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THE  BRAND   OF   SILENCE 


The    Brand    of    Silence 


A  DETECTIVE  STORY 


By  HARRINGTON  STRONG 


^ 


CHELSEA  HOUSE 
79  SEVENTH  AVENUE  NEW  YORK  CITY 


\    \   \     \ 


.  t'' 


J^ 


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The  Brand  of  Silence 


Copyright.  1919  by  STREET  &  SMITH 


(Printed  In  the  United  States  of  America) 

All  rights  reserved,  includlofr  that  of  translation  Into  foreign 

languages,  including  the  Scandinavian. 


CONTENTS 

OBAPTEB  PAQB 

I.  In    the    Harbor ii 

11.  The  Girl  on  the  Ship 21 

III.  Some  Discourtesies 28 

IV.  A  Foe  and  a  Friend 39 

V.  The     Cousin 48 

VI.  Murk — and  Murder 56 

VII.  Evidence 68 

VIII.  Lies    and    Liars 79 

IX.  Puzzled 90 

X,  On  the  Trail    .     .     ». 99 

XI.  Concerning  Kate  Gilbert     ....  112 

XII.  Battered     Keys 122 

XIII.  A  Plan  of  Campaign 131 

XIV.  More  Mystery 140 

XV.  A  Moment  of  Violence 149 

XVI.  Murk  Receives  a  Blow 157 


2138265 


CONTENTS 

CBAPRB  PAQB 

XVII.  Murk  is  Tempted  .     .     .    ,,    ,,     .     .  162 

XVIII.  A  Woman's  Way    .......  170 

XIX.    CoADLEY  Quits 182 

XX.    Up  THE  River 188 

XXI.    Recognition 198 

XXII.  An    Unexpected    Visitor     ....  209 

XXIII.  A  Startling  Story 219 

XXIV.  High-handed  Methods    .     ,     .     .     .  230 
XXV.    An   Accusation 238 

XXVI.  The  Truth  Comes  Out  .,.;...  248 


THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 


CHAPTER  I 

IN      THE      HARBOR 

NOW  the  fog  was  clearing  and  the  mist  was  lift-  * 
ing,  and  the  bright  sunshine  was  struggUng  to 
penetrate  the  billows  of  damp  vapor  and  touch  with 
its  glory  the  things  of  the  world  beneath.  In  the 
lower  harbor  there  still  was  a  chorus  of  sirens  and 
foghorns,  as  craft  of  almost  every  description  made 
way  toward  the  metropolis  or  out  toward  the  open 
sea. 

The  Manatee,  tramp  steamer  with  rusty  plates  and 
rattling  engines  and  a  lurch  like  that  of  a  drunken 
man,  wallowed  her  way  in  from  the  turbulent  ocean 
she  had  fought  for  three  days,  her  skipper  standing 
on  the  bridge  and  inaudibly  giving  thanks  that  he 
was  nearing  the  end  of  the  voyage  without  the  neces- 
sity for  abandoning  his  craft  for  an  open  boat,  or 
remaining  to  go  down  with  the  ship  after  the  manner 
of  skippers  of  the  old  school. 

Here  and  there  showed  a  rift  in  the  rolling  fog, 
and  those  who  braved  the  weather  and  lined  the  damp 
rail  could  see  other  craft  in  passing. 

A  giant  liner  made  her  way  past  majestically, 
bound  for  Europe,  or  a  seagoing  tug  clugged  by  as 
if  turning  up  her  nose  at  the  old,  battered  Manatee. 

Standing  at  the   rail,   and   well    forward,    Sidney 


12  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

Prale  strained  his  eyes  and  looked  ahead,  watching 
where  the  fog  lifted,  an  eager  light  in  his  face,  his 
lips  curved  in  a  smile,  a  general  expression  of  antici- 
pation about  him. 

Sidney  Prale  himself  was  not  bad  to  look  at. 
Thirty-eight  he  was,  tall  and  broad  of  shoulder,  with 
hair  that  was  touched  with  gray  at  the  temples,  with 
a  face  that  had  been  browned  by  the  weather.  Sid- 
ney Prale  had  the  appearance  of  wearing  clothes  that 
had  been  molded  to  his  form.  He  had  a  chin  that 
expressed  decision  and  determination,  lips  that  could 
form  in  a  thin,  straight  line  if  occasion  required, 
eyes  that  could  be  kind  or  stern,  according  to  the 
needs  of  the  moment.  A  man  of  the  world  would 
have  said  that  Sidney  Prale  was  a  gentleman  of 
broad  experience,  a  man  who  had  presence  of  mind 
in  the  face  of  danger,  a  man  who  could  think  quickly 
and  act  quickly  when  such  things  were  necessary. 

He  was  not  alone  at  the  rail — and  yet  he  was  alone 
in  a  sense,  for  he  gave  no  one  the  slightest  attention. 
He  bent  over  and  looked  ahead  eagerly,  waving  a 
hand  now  and  then  at  the  men  on  passing  craft,  like 
a  schoolboy  on  an  excursion  trip.  He  listened  to  the 
bellowing  sirens  and  foghorns,  drank  in  the  raucous 
cries  of  the  ship's  officers,  strained  his  ears  for  the 
land  sounds  that  rolled  now  and  then  across  the 
waters. 

"It's  great — great!"  Sidney  Prale  said,  half  aloud 

He  bent  over  the  rail  again.  A  hand  descended 
upon  his  shoulder,  and  a  voice  answered  him. 

"You  bet  it's  great,  Prale*" 

Sidney  Prale's  smile  weakened  a  bit  as  he  turned 


IN  THE  HARBOR  13 

around,  but  there  was  nothing  of  discourtesy  in  his 
manner, 

"You  like  it,  Mr.  Shepley?"  he  asked. 

"Do  I  like  it?  Does  Rufus  Shepley,  forced  to 
run  here  and  there  around  the  old  world  in  the  name 
of  business,  like  it  when  he  gets  the  chance  to  return 
to  New  York?     Ask  me!" 

"I  have  my  answer,"  Prale  said,  laughing  a  bit. 
"And  judge,  then,  how  I  like  it — when  I  have  not 
seen  it  for  ten  years." 

"Haven't  seen  New  York  for  ten  years?"  Rufus 
Shepley  gasped. 

"A  whole  decade,"  Prale  admitted. 

"Been  down  in  Honduras  all  that  time?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  you  live  to  tell  it?  You  are  my  idea  of  a 
real  man!"  Rufus  Shepley  said. 

Shepley  took  a  cigar  from  his  vest  pocket,  bit  off 
the  end,  lighted  it,  and  puffed  a  cloud  of  fragrant 
smoke  into  the  air.  Rufus  Shepley  was  a  man  of 
fifty,  and  looked  his  age.  If  human  being  ever  gave 
the  appearance  of  being  the  regulation  man  of  big 
business  affairs,  Rufus  Shepley  did. 

Sidney  Prale  had  held  some  conversation  with  him 
on  board  ship,  but  they  had  not  become  very  well 
acquainted,  though  they  seemed  to  like  each  other. 
Each  man  seemed  to  be  holding  back,  waiting,  trying 
to  discover  in  the  other  more  qualities  to  like  or 
dislike. 

"Ten  years,"  Sidney  Prale  went  on  thoughtfully. 
"It  seems  a  long  time,  but  the  years  have  passed 
swiftly." 


14  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

*'I  always  had  an  idea,"  Rufus  Shepley  said,  "that 
a  genuine  white  man  who  went  to  one  of  those  Cen- 
tral American  countries  turned  bad  after  the  first 
year  and  went  to  the  devil  generally.  But  you  don't 
look  it." 

"The  idea  is  correct,  at  that,  in  some  instances," 
Prale  admitted.     "Some  of  them  do  turn  bad." 

"They  get  to  drifting,  eh?  The  climate  gets  into 
their  blood.  Do  you  know  what  I  think?  I  think 
that,  in  seven  cases  out  of  eight,  it's  a  case  of  a  man 
wanting  an  excuse  for  loafing.  I  knew  a  chap  once 
who  went  down  to  that  part  of  the  world.  Got  to 
drinking  too  much,  threw  up  his  job,  used  to  loaf 
all  the  time,  married  some  sort  of  a  half -black 
woman  who  had  a  bit  of  coin,  and  went  to  the  dogs 
generally." 

"Oh,  there  are  many  such,"  Sidney  Prale  admitted. 
"But  the  majority  of  them  are  men  who  made  some 
grave  mistake  somewhere  else  and  got  the  idea  that 
life  was  merely  existence  afterward.  A  man  must 
have  an  incentive  in  any  climate  to  make  anything  of 
himself — and  down  there  the  incentive  has  to  be 
stronger." 

"I  assume  that  you — er — had  the  proper  incen- 
tive," Rufus  Shepley  said,  grinning. 

"I  don't  know  how  some  persons  would  look  at 
the  propriety  of  it.  I  wanted  to  make  a  million 
dollars." 

"Great  Scott!  Your  ambition  was  a  modest  one, 
I  must  say.  And  you  managed  to  win  out?  Oh,  I 
beg  your  pardon!  It  isn't  any  of  my  business,  of 
course !" 


IN  THE  HARBOR  25 

"That's  all  right,"  Prale  answered  good-naturedly. 
"I  don't  mind.  I'm  so  happy  this  morning  that  I'm 
willing  to  overlook  almost  anything.  And  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  that  I've  won  out." 

"A  million  in  ten  years,"  Shepley  gasped. 

*'Yes;  and  with  an  initial  capital  of  ten  thousand 
dollars,"  Sidney  Prale  replied.  "I'm  rather  proud 
of  it,  of  course.  I  suppose  this  sounds  like 
boasting " 

"My  boy,  you  have  the  right  to  boast!  A  million 
dollars  in  ten  years!  Great  Scott!  Say,  would  you 
consider  being  general  manager  of  one  of  my  com- 
panies?   We  need  a  few  men  like  you." 

Sidney  Prale  laughed  again.  "Sorry — ^but  I'm 
afraid  that  I  can't  take  the  job,"  he  replied.  "I  am 
going  to  have  my  little  holiday  now — going  to  play. 
A  million  isn't  much  in  some  quarters,  but  it  is 
enough  for  me.  I  don't  care  for  money  to  a  great 
extent.  I  just  wanted  to  prove  to  myself  that  I 
could  make  a  million — prove  it  to  myself  and  others. 
And,  ready  to  take  my  vacation,  I  naturally  decided 
to  take  it  in  New  York — home!" 

"Ah!  Home's  in  New  York,  eh?  Old  friends 
waiting  at  the  dock,  and  all  that!" 

Sidney  Prale's  face  clouded.  "I  am  afraid  that 
there  will  be  no  reception  committee,"  he  said.  "I 
didn't  let  anybody  know  that  I  was  coming — for  the 
simple  reason  that  I  didn't  know  whom  to  inform." 

"My  boy!" 

"I  have  a  few  old  friends  scattered  around  some 
place,  I  suppose.  I  have  no  relatives  in  the  world 
except  a  male  cousin  about  my  own  age,  and  I  never 


i6  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

communicated  with  him  after  going  to  Honduras. 
There  was  a  girl  once " 

"There  always  is  a  girl,"  Shepley  said  softly,  as 
Prale  ceased  speaking. 

"But  that  ended  ten  years  ago,"  Prale  continued. 
"I  stand  alone — with  my  million." 

"You  advertise  that  fact,  my  boy,  and  there'll  be 
girls  by  the  regiment  looking  up  your  telephone 
number." 

"And  the  right  one  wouldn't  be  in  the  crowd," 
Prale  said,  the  smile  leaving  his  face  again. 

"Well,  you  are  in  for  a  fine  time,  at  least,"  Rufus 
Shepley  told  him,  "There  have  been  quite  a  few 
changes  in  New  York  in  the  past  ten  years.  Yes, 
quite  a  few  changes!  There  are  a  few  new  board- 
ing houses  scattered  around,  and  a  new  general  store 
or  two,  and  the  street  cars  run  out  farther  than  they 
used  to." 

"Oh,  I've  kept  up  to  date  after  a  fashion,"  Sidney 
Prale  said,  laughing  once  more.  "I'm  ready  to  ap- 
preciate the  changes,  but  I  suppose  I  will  be  surprised. 
The  New  York  papers  get  down  to  Honduras  now 
and  then,  you  know." 

"I've  always  understood,"  Shepley  said,  "that 
there  are  certain  gentlemen  in  that  part  of  the  world 
who  watch  the  New  York  papers  very  closely." 

"Meaning  the  men  who  are  fugitives  from  justice. 
I  see,"  said  Prale. 

"I  didn't  mean  anything  personal,  of  course." 

"It  does  look  bad,  doesn't  it?"  said  Prale.  "I  went 
straight  to  Honduras  when  I  left  New  York  ten  years 
ago,  like  a  man  running  away  from  the  law,  and  I 


IN  THE  HARBOR  17 

have  remained  there  all  the  time  until  this  trip.  And 
I  have  been  gone  ten  years — thereby  satisfying  cer- 
tain statutes  of  limitation " 

"My  boy,  I  never  meant  to  insinuate  that " 


"I  know  that  you  didn't,"  Prale  interrupted.  "My 
conscience  is  clear,  Mr.  Shepley.  When  I  land,  I'll 
not  be  afraid  of  some  officer  of  the  law  clutching  me 
by  the  shoulder  and  hauling  me  away  to  a  police 
station." 

"Even  if  one  did,  a  cool  million  will  buy  lots  of 
bail,"  Rufus  Shepley  said. 

The  fog  was  lifting  rapidly  now.  Here  and  there 
through  the  billows  of  mist  could  be  seen  the  roofs 
of  skyscrapers  glistening  in  the  sun.  Sidney  Prale 
almost  forgot  the  man  at  his  side  as  he  bent  over 
the  rail  to  watch. 

"Getting  home — getting  home!"  he  said.  "I  sup- 
pose no  man  ever  gets  quite  over  the  home  idea,  no 
matter  how  long  he  remains  away.  Ten  years  ought 
to  make  a  change,  but  I  find  that  it  doesn't.  I'll  be 
glad  to  feel  the  pavements  beneath  my  shoes  again." 

"Sure!"  said  Rufus  Shepley. 

"Confound  the  fog!  Ah,  there's  a  building  I 
know  1  And  there  are  a  few  I  never  saw  before. 
We're  beginning  to  get  in,  aren't  we?  Ought  to 
dock  before  noon,  don't  you  think?" 

"Sure  thing!" 

"A  hotel,  a  bath,  fresh  clothes — and  then  for  hour 
after  hour  of  walking  around  and  taking  in  the 
sights!"  Prale  said. 

"Better  engage  a  taxi  if  you  expect  to  take  *em  all 
in  before  night,  my  boy,"  Shepley  said. 


i8  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

"I  forgot!  We  haven't  any  too  many  taxis  in 
Honduras.  I  had  a  car  of  my  own,  but  sold  it  be- 
fore I  came  away." 

"You  let  the  busy  auto  agents  know  that,  and 
you'll  have  a  regiment  of  them " 

"And  there!"  Sidney  Prale  cried.  "Now  I  know 
that  I  am  home!  There  is  the  Old  Girl  in  the 
Harbor!" 

Prale  removed  his  cap,  and  a  mist  came  into  his 
eyes  that  did  not  come  from  the  foggy  billows 
through  which  the  ship  was  plowing.  The  sun  was 
shining  through  the  murk  at  last,  and  it  touched  the 
Statue  of  Liberty.  The  great  figure  seemed  like  a 
live  thing  for  a  moment;  the  mist  made  it  appear 
that  her  garments  were  waving  in  the  breeze. 

"Now  I  know  that  I  am  home!"  Sidney  Prale  re- 
peated. 

"She  sure  is  a  great  old  girl!"  Rufus  Shepley 
agreed.     "Always  glad  to  see  her!" 

"Well,  I've  got  to  get  ready  to  land;  I'm  not 
going  to  waste  any  time,"  Prale  said.  "I'm  glad 
that  I  met  you — and  perhaps  we'll  meet  again  in  the 
city." 

"Hope  we  do!"  said  Shepley,  grasping  Prale's 
hand.  "Our  factories  are  out  in  Ohio,  but  the  com- 
pany headquarters  are  in  New  York,  of  course. 
Here's  my  business  card,  my  boy.  And  I  generally 
put  up  at  the  Graymore," 

Sidney  Prale  took  the  card,  thanked  Rufus  Shep- 
ley, and  hurried  down  the  deck  toward  his  stateroom, 
one  of  the  best  on  the  ship.  Rufus  Shepley  looked 
after  him  sharply. 


IN  THE  HARBOR  19 

"Went  straight  to  Honduras  and  stayed  there  for 
ten  years,  eh?"  Rufus  Shepley  said  to  himself.  "Um! 
Looks  bad!  I  never  put  much  stock  in  those  Hon- 
duras chaps — but  this  one  seems  to  be  all  right. 
Never  can  tell,  though!" 

Sidney  Prale,  still  smiling,  and  humming  a  Span- 
ish love  song,  reached  his  stateroom  and  threw  open 
the  door;  and  just  inside,  he  came  to  a  stop,  aston- 
ished. 

Somebody  had  been  in  that  stateroom  and  had 
been  going  through  his  things.  The  contents  of  his 
suit  case  were  spilled  on  the  floor.  A  bag  was  wide 
open;  he  had  left  it  closed  and  in  a  corner  less  than 
an  hour  before. 

Prale  went  down  on  his  knees  and  made  a  quick 
inspection.  There  did  not  seem  to  be  anything  miss- 
ing. A  package  of  papers — business  documents  for 
the  greater  part — had  been  examined,  he  could  tell 
at  a  glance,  but  none  had  been  taken. 

"Peculiar!"  Prale  told  himself.  "Some  sneak 
thief,  I  suppose.  No  sense  in  complaining  to  the 
ship's  officers  at  this  late  hour,  especially  since  noth- 
ing has  been  stolen.     Makes  a  man  angry,  though!" 

He  put  the  suit  case  on  the  table  and  began  re- 
packing the  things  that  had  been  scattered  on  the 
floor.  Then  he  gathered  up  his  toilet  articles,  bits  of 
clothing  he  had  left  out  until  the  last  minute,  a  few 
souvenirs  of  Honduras  he  had  been  showing  a  tourist 
the  evening  before.  He  turned  toward  the  berth  to 
pick  up  his  light  overcoat. 

There  was  a  sheet  of  paper  pinned  to  the  pillow, 
paper  that  might  have  been  taken  from  an  ordinary 


20  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

writing  tablet.  Sidney  Prale  took  it  up  and  glanced 
at  it.  A  few  words  of  handwriting  were  upon  the 
paper,  words  that  looked  as  if  they  had  been  scrawled 
hurriedly  with  a  pencil  that  needed  sharpening  badly. 

"Retribution  is  inevitable  and  comes  when  you  least 
expect  it." 

The  smile  fled  from  Sidney  Prale's  lips,  and  the 
Spanish  love  song  he  had  been  humming  died  in  his 
throat.     He  frowned,  and  read  the  message  again. 

"Now  what  the  deuce  does  this  mean?"  he  gasped. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    GIRL    ON    THE    SHIP 

SIDNEY  PRALE  folded  the  piece  of  paper  care- 
fully and  slipped  it  into  his  wallet.  Winning  a 
fortune  in  ten  years  in  a  foreign  country  had  taught 
Prale  many  things,  notably  that  everything  has  its 
cause  and  effect,  and  that  things  that  seem  trifles  may 
turn  out  to  be  of  great  importance  later. 

He  finished  his  packing,  locked  the  suit  case,  put 
on  coat  and  hat  and  went  out  upon  the  deck.  The 
Manatee  was  docking.  A  throng  was  on  the  wharf. 
Prale  glanced  at  the  buildings  in  the  distance  and 
forgot  for  the  time  being  the  scrap  of  paper,  because 
of  his  happiness  at  being  home  again  and  his  eager- 
ness to  land.  Returning  to  New  York  after  an  ab- 
sence of  so  many  years  was  in  the  nature  of  an  ad- 
venture. There  would  be  exploring  trips  to  make, 
things  to  find,  surprises  at  every  turn  and  on  every 
side. 

The  passengers  were  crowding  forward  now,  pre- 
paring to  go  ashore.  Sidney  Prale  picked  up  his 
suit  case  and  started  through  the  jostling  crowd. 
Already  those  on  board  were  calling  greetings  to 
relatives  and  friends  on  the  wharf,  and  Prale's  face 
grew  solemn  for  a  moment  because  there  was  nobody 
to  welcome  him. 

"Not  a  friend  in  the  world,"  he  had  said  to  Rufus 
Shepley  that  morning. 


22  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

"A  man  with  a  million  dollars  has  a  million 
friends,"  Shepley  had  replied.  "The  only  trouble  is, 
you  can't  enjoy  that  sort  of  friends  except  by  getting 
rid  of  them,  unless  you  happen  to  be  a  miser," 

Well,  that  was  something,  Sidney  Prale  told  him- 
self now.  He  had  ample  funds,  at  least,  and  per- 
haps he  could  enjoy  himself  after  ten  years  of  bat- 
tling with  financial  sharks,  of  inspecting  and  working 
mines,  of  cutting  through  dense  forests  and  locating 
growths  that  could  be  turned  into  wealth. 

Prale  put  his  suit  case  against  the  rail  to  wait 
until  he  could  move  forward  again.  He  looked  down 
at  the  throng  on  the  wharf,  and  up  and  down  the 
rail  at  his  fellow  passengers.  Then  he  saw  the  girl 
again ! 

He  had  seen  her  before.  The  first  time  had  been 
at  Tegucigalpa,  at  a  ball  given  by  some  society  peo- 
ple for  charity.  He  had  known  her  at  once  for  an 
American,  and  finally  had  obtained  an  introduction. 
Her  name  was  Kate  Gilbert,  and  she  lived  in  New 
York.  It  was  understood  that  she  was  of  a  wealthy 
family  and  traveling  for  her  health.  She  was  accom- 
panied only  by  a  middle-aged  maid,  a  giant  of  a 
woman  who  seemed  to  be  maid  and  chaperon  and 
general  protector  in  one. 

That  night  at  Tegucigalpa,  Prale  had  talked  to  her 
and  had  danced  with  her  twice.  He  judged  her  to 
be  about  twenty-eight,  some  ten  years  younger  than 
himself.  She  was  small  and  charming,  not  one  of 
the  helpless  butterfly  sort,  but  a  woman  who  gave  in- 
dication that  she  could  care  for  herself  if  necessary. 

Prale  had  been  surprised  to  find  her  aboard  the 


THE  GIRL  ON  THE  SHIP  23 

Manatee,  but  she  had  told  him  that  she  was  going 
home,  that  her  health  had  been  much  benefited,  and 
that  she  felt  she  could  not  remain  away  longer.  It 
had  seemed  to  Prale  that  she  avoided  him  purposely, 
and  that  puzzled  him  a  bit.  He  could  not  understand 
why  any  woman  should  absolutely  dislike  him.  His 
record  in  Honduras  was  a  clean  one;  it  was  known 
that  he  did  not  care  much  for  women,  and  surely 
she  had  learned  that  he  was  a  man  of  means,  and 
did  not  think  he  might  be  a  fortune  hunter  wishing 
to  marry  a  prominent  heiress. 

He  had  not  spoken  to  her  half  a  dozen  times  dur- 
ing the  voyage.  She  made  the  acquaintance  of  others 
aboard  and,  for  the  first  few  days,  had  been  busy 
in  their  company.  The  last  three  days  had  been 
stormy  ones,  and  Kate  Gilbert  had  not  been  much  in 
evidence.     Prale  judged  that  she  was  a  poor  sailor. 

Now  she  stopped  beside  him,  the  middle-aged  maid 
standing  just  behind  her. 

"Well,  we're  home,  Mr.  Prale!"  she  said. 

"I  suppose  that  you  are  glad  to  get  home?" 

"Surely!"  she  replied.  "And  I'll  be  angry  if  there 
are  not  half  a  dozen  to  meet  me  when  I  land.  I've 
been  trying  to  spot  some  friends  in  that  crowd,  but 
it  is  a  hopeless  task." 

"I  hope  you'll  not  be  disappointed,"  Prale  said. 

As  he  spoke,  he  glanced  past  her  at  the  middle- 
aged  maid,  and  surprised  a  peculiar  expression  on 
the  face  of  the  woman.  She  had  been  looking 
straight  at  him,  and  her  lips  were  almost  curled  into 
a  sneer,  while  her  eyes  were  flashing  with  some- 
thing akin  to  anger. 


24  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

Prale  did  not  understand  that.  Why  should  the 
dragon  be  incensed  with  him?  He  was  making  no 
attempt  to  lay  siege  to  the  heart  of  Miss  Kate  Gil- 
bert. He  was  no  fortune  hunter  after  an  heiress. 
The  expression  on  the  face  of  the  maid  amused  Prale 
even  while  he  wondered  what  it  could  mean. 

"Picked  your  hotel?"  Kate  Gilbert  was  asking. 

"Not  yet,  but  I  hope  to  get  in  somewhere,"  Prale 
told  her.  "May  I  be  of  assistance  to  you  when  we 
land?" 

"Marie  will  help  me,  thanks — and  there  will  be 
others  on  the  wharf,"  she  answered. 

A  cold  look  had  come  into  her  face  again,  and  she 
turned  half  away  from  him  and  looked  down  at  the 
crowd  on  the  wharf.  Sidney  Prale  looked  straight 
at  her,  despite  the  glare  of  the  middle-aged  maid. 
Kate  Gilbert  was  a  woman  who  would  appeal  to  a 
majority  of  men,  but  there  seemed  to  be  something 
peculiar  about  her,  Prale  told  himself.  He  knew 
that  she  had  avoided  him  purposely  during  the  voy- 
age, and  that  she  had  spoken  to  him  purposely  now, 
yet  had  asked  nothing  except  whether  he  had  chosen 
a  hotel. 

Why  should  Kate  Gilbert  wish  to  know  where  he 
was  going  to  stop?  Perhaps  it  had  been  only  an 
idle  question,  he  explained  to  himself.  In  her  happi- 
ness at  getting  home,  she  had  merely  wished  to  speak 
to  somebody,  and  none  of  her  shipboard  friends  hap- 
pened to  be  near. 

He  turned  from  her  and  glanced  at  the  maid  again. 
She  was  not  the  sort  to  be  named  Marie,  Prale  told 
himself.     Marie  called  up  a  vision  of  a  petite,  trim 


THE  GIRL  ON  THE  SHIP  25 

woman  from  sunny  France,  and  this  Marie  was  noth- 
ing of  the  sort.  She  appeared  more  to  be  a  peasant 
used  to  hard  labor,  Prale  decided. 

And  he  could  not  understand  the  expression  on  the 
woman's  face  as  she  looked  at  him.  It  was  almost 
one  of  loathing. 

"Got  me  mixed  up  with  somebody  else,  or  some- 
body has  been  giving  me  a  bad  reputation,"  Prale 
mused.  "Enough  to  make  a  man  shiver — that  look 
of  hers." 

Kate  Gilbert,  apparently,  did  not  intend  to  have 
anything  more  to  do  with  him.  Smiling  a  little  at 
her  manner,  Prale  lifted  his  hat,  picked  up  the  suit 
case,  and  turned  away.  Once  more  he  tried  to  force 
a  passage  through  the  jostling  crowd.  He  had  not 
taken  three  steps  when  Kate  Gilbert  touched  him  on 
the  arm. 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Prale,  but  there  is  something 
sticking  on  the  end  of  your  suit  case,"  she  said, 

Prale  glanced  down.  On  one  end  of  the  suit  case 
was  a  bit  of  paper.  It  had  been  stuck  there  by  a 
drop  of  mucilage,  and  the  mucilage  was  still  wet. 

He  thanked  Kate  Gilbert  and  picked  the  paper  off, 
but  he  did  not  throw  it  over  the  rail  into  the  water. 
He  crumpled  it  in  his  hand  and,  when  he  was  some 
distance  away,  he  smoothed  it  out. 

There  was  a  single  word  written  on  it,  in  the  same 
handwriting  as  that  of  the  note  he  had  found  pinned 
to  the  pillow  in  the  stateroom — "Retribution." 

Sidney  Prale  glanced  around  quickly.  Nobody 
seemed  to  be  paying  particular  attention  to  him. 
Kate  Gilbert  and  her  maid  had  passed  him  and  were 


2.6  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

preparing  to  land.  Prale  put  the  piece  of  paper  into 
his  coat  pocket  and  picked  up  his  suit  case  again. 
That  bit  of  paper,  he  knew  well,  had  not  been  on  the 
suit  case  when  he  had  left  the  stateroom.  It  had 
been  put  there  as  he  had  made  his  way  through  the 
crowd  of  passengers  along  the  rail.  Who  could  have 
stuck  it  there — and  why? 

Now  the  passengers  were  streaming  ashore,  and 
Sidney  Prale  stepped  to  one  side  and  watched  them. 
Perhaps  he  had  some  business  enemy  on  board,  he 
told  himself,  some  man  he  had  not  noticed,  and  who 
was  trying  to  frighten  him  after  a  childish  fashion. 
He  searched  the  faces  of  the  landing  passengers,  but 
saw  nobody  he  had  known  in  Central  America,  no- 
body who  looked  at  all  suspicious. 

"Either  a  joke — or  a  mistake,"  Prale  told  himself 
again. 

He  started  ashore.  He  saw  Kate  Gilbert  just 
ahead  of  him,  the  bulky  maid  at  her  heels.  An 
elderly  man  met  her,  but  did  not  greet  her  as  a  father 
would  have  been  expected  to  do.  Prale  saw  them 
hold  a  whispered  conversation,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  elderly  man  gave  him  a  searching  glance. 

"I  must  look  like  a  swindler !"  Prale  mused. 

Finally,  as  he  went  out  upon  the  street  to  engage 
a  taxicab  and  start  for  a  hotel,  he  saw  Kate  Gilbert 
and  her  maid  and  the  elderly  man  again,  getting  into 
a  limousine.  The  girl  held  a  piece  of  paper  in  her 
hand,  and  was  reading  something  from  it  to  the 
elderly  man.  As  she  got  into  the  car,  she  dropped 
the  piece  of  paper  to  the  curb. 

The  limousine  was  gone  before  Prale  reached  the 


THE  GIRL  ON  THE  SHIP  27 

curb.  He  put  his  suit  case  down  and  picked  up  the 
piece  of  paper.  There  was  nothing  on  it  except  a 
couple  of  names  that  meant  nothing  to  Sidney  Praia. 
But  his  eyes  bulged,  nevertheless,  as  he  read  them. 

For  the  paper  was  similar  to  that  upon  which  had 
been  written  the  note  that  he  had  found  on  the  pil- 
low in  the  stateroom — and  the  coarse  handwriting 
was  the  same! 

"What     the     deuce "     Prale     caught     himself 

saying. 

Had  Kate  Gilbert  written  that  message  about  retri- 
bution and  had  her  maid  leave  it  in  the  stateroom? 
Had  Kate  Gilbert  written  that  single  word  and  had 
her  maid  paste  it  on  his  suit  case  as  he  passed,  or 
pasted  it  there  herself? 

Why  had  Kate  Gilbert — whom  he  never  had  seen 
and  of  whom  he  never  had  heard  until  she  appeared 
at  the  ball  in  Tegucigalpa — avoided  him  in  such  a 
peculiar  manner?  And  why  had  the  mis-named 
Marie  glared  at  him,  and  expressed  loathing  and  an- 
ger when  her  eyes  met  his? 

"What  the  deuce "  Prale  asked  himself  again. 

Then  a  taxicab  drew  up  at  the  curb,  and  he  got  in. 


CHAPTER  III 

SOME     DISCOURTESIES 

SIDNEY  PRALE  obtained  accommodations  in  a 
prominent  hostelry  on  Fifth  Avenue,  bathed, 
dressed,  ate  luncheon,  and  then  went  out  upon  the 
streets,  walking  briskly  and  swinging  his  stick,  going 
about  New  York  like  a  stranger  who  never  had 
seen  it  before. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  never  had  seen  this  New 
York  before.  He  had  expected  a  multitude  of 
changes,  but  nothing  compared  to  what  he  found. 
He  watched  the  crowds  on  the  Avenue,  cut  over 
to  Broadway  and  investigated  the  electric  signs  by 
daylight,  observed  the  congestion  of  vehicles  and 
the  efforts  of  traffic  policemen  to  straighten  it  out. 
He  darted  into  the  subway  and  rode  far  downtown 
and  back  again  just  for  the  sport  of  it.  After  that 
he  got  on  an  omnibus  and  rode  up  to  Central  Park, 
and  acted  as  if  every  tree  and  twig  were  an  old 
friend. 

He  made  himself  acquainted  with  the  animals  in 
the  zoo  there,  and  promised  himself  to  go  to  the 
other  zoo  in  the  Bronx  before  the  end  of  the  week. 
He  stood  back  at  the  curb  and  lifted  his  head  to  look 
at  new  buildings  after  the  manner  of  the  comic 
supplement   farmer  with  a  straw  between  his   teeth. 

"Great — great!"  said  Sidney  Prale. 


SOME  DISCOURTESIES  29 

Then  he  hurried  back  to  the  hotel,  dressed  for 
dinner,  and  went  down  to  the  dining  room,  stopping 
on  the  way  to  obtain  a  ticket  for  a  musical  revue 
that  was  the  talk  of  the  town  at  the  moment. 

Prale  ordered  a  dinner  that  made  the  waiter  open 
his  eyes.  He  made  it  a  point  to  select  things  that 
were  not  on  the  menus  of  the  hotels  in  Honduras. 
Then  he  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  listened  to  the 
orchestra,  and  watched  well-dressed  men  and  women 
come  in  and  get  their  places  at  the  tables. 

But  the  dinner  was  a  disappointment  to  Prale 
after  all.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  waiter  was  a 
long  time  giving  him  service.  He  remonstrated,  and 
the  man  asked  pardon  and  said  that  he  would  do 
better,  but  he  did  not. 

Prale  found  that  his  soup  was  lukewarm,  his 
salad  dressing  prepared  imperfectly,  the  salad  itself 
a  mere  mess  of  vegetables.  The  fish  and  fowl  he 
had  ordered  were  not  served  properly,  the  dessert 
was  without  flavor,  the  cheese  was  stale.  He  sent 
for  the   head   waiter. 

"I'm  disgusted  with  the  food  and  the  service,"  he 
complained.  "I  rarely  find  fault,  but  I  am  compelled 
to  do  so  this  time.  The  man  who  has  been  serving 
me  seems  to  be  a  rank  amateur,  and  twice  he  was 
almost  insolent.  This  hotel  has  a  reputation  which 
it  scarcely   Is   maintaining  this   evening." 

"I'll  see  about  it,  sir,"  the  head  waiter  said. 

Prale  saw  him  stop  the  waiter  and  speak  to  him, 
and  the  waiter  glared  at  him  when  he  brought  the 
demi-tasse.  Prale  did  not  care.  He  glared  back 
at  the  man,  drank  the  coflfee,  and  touched  the  match 


30  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

to  a  cigar.  Then  he  signed  the  check  and  went 
from  the  dining  room,  an  angry  and  disgusted  man. 

"Another  thing  like  that,  and  I  look  for  the  man- 
ager,"  he   told  himself. 

He  supposed  that  he  was  a  victim  of  circum- 
stances— that  the  waiter  was  a  new  man  and  that 
it  happened  that  the  portions  he  served  were  poor 
portions.  His  happiness  at  being  home  again  pre- 
vented Sidney  Prale  from  feeling  anger  for  any 
length  of  time.  He  got  his  hat  and  coat  and  went 
out  upon  the  street  again. 

He  had  an  hour  before  time  to  go  to  the  theater. 
He  walked  over  to  Broadway  and  went  toward  the 
north,  looking  at  the  bright  lights  and  the  crowds. 
He  passed  through  two  or  three  hotel  lobbies,  satis- 
fied for  the  time  merely  to  be  in  the  midst  of  the 
throngs. 

At  the  proper  time,  he  hurried  to  the  theater  and 
claimed  his  seat.  The  performance  was  a  mediocre 
one,  but  it  pleased  Sidney  Prale.  He  had  seen  a 
better  show  in  Honduras  a  month  before,  had  seen 
better  dancing  and  heard  better  singing  and  comedy, 
but  this  was  New  York! 

The  show  at  an  end,  Prale  claimed  his  hat  and 
coat  at  the  check  room  and  walked  down  the  street 
toward  a  cabaret  restaurant.  He  reached  into  his 
overcoat  pocket  for  his  gloves,  and  his  hand  en- 
countered a  slip  of  paper.     He  took  it  out. 

There  was  the  same  rough  handwriting  on  the 
same  kind  of  paper,  and  evidently  with  the  same 
blunt   pencil. 

"Remember — retribution  is  sure!" 


SOME  DISCOURTESIES  31 

"This  thing  ceases  to  be  a  joke!"  Prale  told 
himself. 

His  face  flushed  with  anger,  and  he  turned  back 
toward  the  theater.  But  he  had  been  among  the 
last  to  leave,  and  already  the  lights  of  the  playhouse 
were  being  turned  out.  The  boy  in  charge  of  the 
check   room   would   be   gone,    Prale   knew. 

He  thought  of  Kate  Gilbert  again,  and  the  bit 
of  paper  she  had  dropped  as  she  got  into  the  limou- 
sine down  on  the  water  front.  Surely  she  could 
have  no  hand  in  this,  he  thought.  What  interest 
could  Kate  Gilbert,  a  casual  acquaintance  and  reputed 
daughter  of  a  wealthy  house,  have  in  him  and  his 
affairs  ? 

"Somebody  is  making  a  mistake,"  he  declared  to 
himself,  "or  else  it  is  some  sort  of  a  new  advertising 
dodge.  If  I  ever  catch  the  jokesmith  who  is  respon- 
sible for  these  dainty  little  messages,  I'll  tell  him  a 
thing  or  two." 

Prale  turned  into  the  restaurant  and  found  a  seat 
at  a  little  table  at  one  side  of  the  room.  The  after- 
theater  crowd  was  filling  the  place.  The  orchestra 
was  playing  furiously,  and  the  cabaret  performance 
was  beginning.  Sidney  Prale  leaned  back  in  his  chair 
and  watched  the  show.  The  waiter  came  to  his  side, 
and  he  ordered  something  to  eat  and  drink. 

Then  he  saw  Kate  Gilbert  again,  at  a  table  not 
very  far  away  from  his.  She  was  dressed  in  an 
evening  gown,  as  if  she  had  just  come  from  the 
theater  or  opera.  She  was  in  the  company  of  the 
elderly  man  who  had  met  her  at  the  wharf,  and  a 


32  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

young  man  and  an  older  woman  were  at  the  same 
table. 

Prale's  eyes  met  hers  for  an  instant,  and  he  in- 
clined his  head  a  bit  in  a  respectful  manner.  But 
Kate  Gilbert  looked  through  him  as  if  he  had  not 
been  present,  and  then  turned  her  head  and  began 
talking  to  the  elderly  man. 

Prale's  face  flushed.  He  hadn't  done  anything 
wrong,  he  told  himself.  He  merely  had  bowed  to 
her,  as  he  would  have  bowed  to  any  woman  to  whom 
he  had  been  properly  introduced.  She  had  seen  fit 
to  cut  him.  Well,  he  could  exist  without  Kate  Gil- 
bert, he  told  himself,  but  he  wondered  at  her  peculiar 
manner. 

He  left  the  place  within  the  hour  and  went  back 
to  the  hotel  and  to  bed.  In  the  morning  he  walked 
up  the  Avenue  as  far  as  the  Circle,  dropped  into  a 
restaurant  for  a  good  breakfast,  and  then  engaged  a 
taxicab  and  drove  downtown  to  the  financial  district. 
He  had  remembered  that  he  was  a  man  with  a  mil- 
lion, and  that  he  had  to  pay  some  attention  to  busi- 
ness. 

He  went  into  the  establishment  of  a  famous  trust 
company  and  sent  his  card  in  to  the  president.  An 
attendant  ushered  him  into  the  president's  private 
office  immediately. 

"Sit  down,  Mr.  Prale,"  said  the  financier.  "I  am 
glad  that  you  came  to  see  me  this  morning.  I  was 
just  about  to  have  somebody  look  you  up." 

"Anything  the  matter?"  Prale  asked. 

"Your  funds  were  transferred  to  us  by  our  Hon- 
duras correspondent,"  the  financier  said.     "Since  you 


SOME  DISCOURTESIES  33 

were  leaving  Honduras  almost  immediately,  we  de- 
cided to  care  for  the  funds  until  you  arrived  and 
we  could  talk  to  you." 

"I  shall  want  some  good  investments,  of  course,'* 
Prale  said.  "I  have  disposed  of  all  my  holdings  in 
Honduras,  and  I  don't  want  the  money  to  be  idle." 

"Idleness  is  as  bad  for  dollars  as  for  men,"  said 
the  financier,  clearing  his  throat, 

"Can  you  suggest  some  investments?  I  have  en- 
gaged no  broker  as  yet,  of  course," 

"I — er — I  am  afraid  that  we  have  nothing  at  the 
present  moment,"  the  financier  said. 

"The  market  must  be  good,"  Prale  observed.  "I 
never  knew  a  time  when  investments  were  lacking." 

"I  would  not  ofifer  you  a  poor  one,  and  good  ones 
are  scarce  with  us  at  present,"  said  the  banker. 
"Sorry  that  we  cannot  attend  to  the  business  iov 
you.     Perhaps  some  other  trust  company " 

"Well,  I  can  wait  for  something  to  turn  up,"  Prale 
said.  "There  is  no  hurry,  of  course.  Probably  you'll 
have  something  in  a  few  weeks  that  will  take  care 
of  at  least  a  part  of  the  money." 

The  banker  cleared  his  throat  again,  and  looked  a 
trifle  embarrassed  as  he  spoke.  "The  fact  of  the 
matter  is,  Mr.  Prale,"  he  said,  "that  we  do  not 
care  for  the  account." 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  Prale  exclaimed.  "You 
mean  you  don't  want  me  to  leave  my  money  in  your 
bank?" 

"Just  that,   Mr.   Prale." 

"But   in   Heaven's   name,   why?      I    should   think 


34  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

that  any  financial  institution  would  be  glad  to  get  a 
new  account  of   that  size." 

"I — er — I  cannot  go  into  details,  sir,"  the  banker 
said.  "But  I  must  tell  you  that  we'd  be  glad  if  you'd 
make  arrangements  to  move  the  deposit  to  some 
other  bank." 

"I  suppose  you  don't  like  to  be  bothered  with 
small  accounts,"  said  Prale,  with  the  suspicion  of  a 
sneer  in  his  voice.  "Very  well,  sir!  I'll  see  that  the 
deposit  is  transferred  before  night.  Perhaps  I  can 
find  banks  that  will  be  glad  to  take  the  money  and 
treat  me  with  respect.  And  I  shall  remember  this, 
sir!" 

"I — er — have  no  choice  in  the  matter,"  the  banker 
said. 

"Can't  you  explain  what  it  means?" 

"I  have  nothing  to  say — nothing  at  all  to  say," 
stammered  the  financier.  "We  took  the  money  be- 
cause of  our  Honduras  correspondent,  but  we'll  ap- 
preciate it  very  much  if  you  do  business  with  some 
other  institution." 

"You  can  bet  I'll  do  that  little  thing!"  Prale  ex- 
claimed. 

He  left  the  office  angrily  and  stalked  from  the 
building.  Were  the  big  financiers  of  New  York 
insane?  A  man  with  a  million  in  cold  cash  has  the 
right  to  expect  that  he  will  be  treated  decently  in  a 
bank.  Prale  walked  down  the  street  and  grew  angrier 
with  every  step  he  took. 

Before  going  to  Honduras  he  had  worked  for  a 
firm  of  brokers.  He  hurried  toward  their  office 
now.    He  would  send  in  his  card  to  his  old  employer, 


SOME  DISCOURTESIES  35 

Griffin,  he  decided,  and  ask  his  advice  about  banking 
his  funds,  and  incidentally  whether  the  financier  he 
had   just  left  was  an  imbecile. 

He  found  the  Griffin  concern  in  the  same  build- 
ing, though  the  offices  were  twice  as  large  now, 
and  there  were  evidences  of  prosperity  on  every  side. 

"Got   an   appointment?"    an   office   boy   demanded. 

"No,  but  I  fancy  that  Mr.  Griffin  will  see  me," 
said  Prale.     "I  used  to  work   for  him  years  ago." 

Then  he  sat  down  to  wait.  Griffin  would  be  glad 
to  see  him,  he  thought.  Griffin  was  a  man  who 
always  liked  to  see  younger  men  get  along.  He 
would  want  to  know  how  Sidney  Prale  got  his 
million.  He  would  want  to  take  him  to  luncheon 
and  exhibit  him  to  his  friends — tell  how  one  of  his 
young  men  had   forged   ahead   in   the   world. 

The  boy  came  back  with  his  card.  "Mr.  Griffin 
can't  see  you,"  he  announced. 

"Oh,  he's  busy,  eh?  Did  he  make  an  apopint- 
ment?" 

"No,  he  ain't  busy,"  said  the  boy.  "He's  got 
his  feet  set  up  on  the  desk  and  he's  readin'  about 
yesterday's  ball  game.  He  said  to  say  that  he  didn't 
have  time  to  see  you  this  mornin',  and  that  he 
wouldn't  ever  have  time  to  see  you." 

"Don't  be  discourteous,  you  young  imp!"  Prale 
said,  his  face  flushing.  "You're  sure  you  handed 
Mr.  Griffin  my  card?" 

"Oh,  I  handed  it  to  him — and  don't  you  try  to 
run  any  bluflf  on  me!"  the  boy  answered.  "From 
the  way  the  boss  acted,  I  guess  you  don't  stand  very 
high  with  him!" 


36  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

The  boy  went  back  to  his  chair,  and  Sidney  Prale 
went  from  the  office,  a  puzzled  and  angry  man. 
There  probably  was  some  mistake,  he  told  himself. 
He'd  meet  Griffin  during  the  day  and  tell  him 
about  the  adventure. 

He  was  anxious  to  meet  some  of  the  men  with 
whom  he  had  worked  ten  years  before,  but  he  did 
not  know  where  to  find  them.  He'd  have  to  wait 
and  ask  Griffin  what  had  become  of  them.  Then, 
too,  he  wanted  to  transfer  his   funds. 

Prale  got  another  taxicab  and  started  making  the 
rounds  of  the  banks  he  knew  to  be  solid  institutions. 
Within  a  few  hours  he  had  made  arrangements  to 
transfer  the  account,  using  four  financial  institutions. 
He  said  nothing,  except  that  the  money  had  been 
transferred  to  the  trust  company  from  Honduras, 
because  the  company  had  a  correspondent  there. 

His  funds  secure,  Prale  went  back  uptown  and 
to  the  hotel.  The  clerk  handed  him  a  note  with  his 
key.  Prale  tore  it  open  after  he  stepped  into  the 
elevator.  This  time  it  was  a  sheet  of  paper  upon 
which  a  message  had  been  typewritten. 

"You  can't  dodge  the  law  of  compensation.  For 
what  you  have  done,  you  must  pay." 

Sidney  Prale  gasped  when  he  read  that  message, 
and   went   back   to   the   ground   floor. 

"Who  left  this  note  for  me?"  he  demanded  of  the 
clerk. 

"Messenger  boy." 

"You  don't  know   where   he   came   from?" 

"No,  sir." 


SOME  DISCOURTESIES  37 

Prale  turned  away  and  started  for  the  elevator 
again.     A  bell  hop  stopped  him. 

"Manager  would  like  to  see  you  in  his  office,  sir," 
the    boy    said.      "This    way,    sir." 

Prale  followed  the  boy,  wondering  what  was  com- 
ing now.  He  found  the  manager  to  be  a  sort  of 
austere  individual  who  seemed  impressed  with  his 
own    importance. 

"Mr.  Prale,"  he  said,  "I  regret  to  have  to  say  this, 
but  I  find  that  it  cannot  be  avoided.  When  you 
arrived  yesterday,  the  clerk  assigned  you  to  a  suite 
on  the  fifth  floor.  He  made  a  mistake.  We  had  a 
telegraphic  reservation  for  that  suite  from  an  old 
guest  of  ours,  and  it  should  have  been  kept  for 
him.     You  appreciate  the  situation,  I  feel  sure." 

"No  objection  to  being  moved,"  Prale  said.  "I 
have  unpacked  scarcely  any  of  my  things." 

"But — again  I  regret  it — there  isn't  a  vacant  suite 
in   the  house,   Mr.   Prale." 

"A   room,   then,   until   you   have   one." 

"We  haven't  a  room.  We  haven't  as  much  as  a 
cot,  Mr.  Prale.  We  cannot  take  care  of  you,  I'm 
afraid.  So  many  regular  guests,  you  understand, 
and  out-of-town  visitors." 

"Then  I'll  have  to  move,  I  suppose.  You  may 
have  the  suite  within  two  hours." 

"Thank   you,    Mr.    Prale." 

Prale  was  angry  again  when  he  left  the  office  o£ 
the  manager.  It  seemed  that  everything  was  con- 
spiring against  his  comfort.  He  got  a  cab,  drove 
to  another  hotel,  inspected  a  suite  and  reserved  it, 
paying  a  month  in  advance,  and  then  went  back  to 


38  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

the  big  hotel  on  Fifth  Avenue  to  get  his  baggage. 
He  paid  his  bill  at  the  cashier's  window,  and  over- 
heard the  room  clerk  speaking  to  a  woman. 

"Certainly,  madam,"  the  clerk  was  saying.  "We 
will  have  an  excellent  suite  on  the  fifth  floor  within 
half  an  hour.  The  party  is  just  vacating  it.  Plenty 
of  suites  on  the  third  floor,  of  course,  but,  if  you 
want  to  be  up  higher   in  the   building " 

Sidney  Prale  felt  the  blood  pounding  in  his  tem- 
ples, felt  rage  welling  up  within  him.  He  felt  as 
he  had  once  in  a  Honduras  forest  when  he  became 
aware  that  a  dishonest  foreman  was  betraying  busi- 
ness secrets.  He  hurried  to  the  office  of  the  manager, 
but  the  stenographer  said  the  manager  was  busy  and 
could   not  be   seen. 

Prale  whirled  away,  going  through  the  lobby  to- 
ward the  entrance.  He  met  Kate  Gilbert  face  to  face. 
She  did  not  seem  to  see  him,  though  he  was  forced 
to  step  aside  to  let  her  pass. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  FOE  AND  A   FRIEND 

AFTER  settling  himself  in  the  other  hotel,  Prale 
ate  a  belated  luncheon.  For  the  first  time  that 
day,  he  looked  at  the  newspapers.  He  had  remem- 
bered that  a  New  Yorker  reads  the  papers  religiously 
to  keep  up  to  the  minute;  whereas,  in  Honduras,  it 
was  the  custom  for  busy  men  to  let  the  papers 
accumulate  and  then  read  a  week's  supply  at  a  sitting. 

Aside  from  his  name  in  the  list  of  arrivals,  Prale 
found  no  word  concerning  himself,  though  there  was 
mention  of  other  men  who  had  come  on  the  Manatee, 
and  who  had  no  special  claim  to  prominence. 

"I  don't  amount  to  much,  I  guess,"  said  Prale  to 
himself.  "Don't  care  for  publicity,  anyway,  but 
they  might  let  the  world  know  a  fellow  has  come 
home." 

He  went  for  another  walk  that  afternoon,  re- 
turned to  the  hotel  for  dinner,  and  decided  that,  in- 
stead of  going  to  a  show  that  evening,  he  would 
prowl  around   the   town. 

He  walked  up  to  the  Park,  went  over  to  Broad- 
way, and  started  down  it,  looking  at  the  bright 
lights  again,  making  his  way  through  the  happy, 
theater-going  throngs  toward  Times  Square.  In 
the  enjoyment  of  the  crowds  he  forgot,  in  part,  the 
discourtesies  of  the  day,  but  he  could  not  forget 
them   entirely. 


40  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

Why  had  the  banker  acted  in  such  a  pecuHar 
fashion?  It  was  not  like  a  financial  institution  to 
refuse  a  deposit  of  a  round  million.  Why  had 
Griffin  refused  to  see  him?  Why  had  he  as  good 
as  been  ordered  out  of  the  hotel? 

"Coincidence,"  he  told  himself.  "No  reason  on 
earth  why  such  things  should  happen  unless  I  am 
being  taken  for  somebody  else — and  that  wouldn't 
be  true   in   the  case  of   Griffin." 

He  came  to  a  prominent  hotel  and  went  into  the 
lobby,  looking  in  vain  for  some  friend  of  the  old 
days  with  whom  he  could  spend  an  hour  or  so. 
Down  in  Honduras  he  had  had  his  million  and 
friends,  too;  and  here,  in  his  old  home,  he  had 
nothing  but  his  money.  At  this  hour,  down  in 
Honduras,  the  band  would  be  playing  in  the  plaza, 
and  society  would  be  out  in  force.  There  would 
be  a  soft  breeze  sweeping  down  from  the  hills, 
bringing  a  thousand  odors  that  could  not  be  detected 
in  New  York.  Here  and  there  guitars  would  be 
tinkling,  and  men  and  maidens  would  be  meeting  in 
the  moonlight. 

There  would  be  a  happy  crowd  at  a  certain  club 
he  knew,  at  which  he  always  had  been  made  wel- 
come. A  man  could  sit  out  on  the  veranda  and  look 
over  the  tumbling  sea,  and  hear  the  ship's  bells  strike. 
Sidney  Prale  found  himself  just  a  bit  homesick  for 
Honduras. 

"Got  to  get  over  it,"  he  told  himself.  "No  sense 
in  feeling  this  way.  I'll  have  a  hundred  friends 
before  I've  been  in  town  a  month !" 

He  went  out  upon  the  street,  made  his  way  down 


A  FOE  AND  A  FRIEND  41 

it,  and  dropped  in  at  another  hotel.  There  he  saw 
Rufus  Shepley  sitting  in  an  easy-chair,  smoking  and 
looking  at   an   evening   paper. 

Well,  he  knew  Shepley,  at  least.  Shepley  was 
only  a  steamship  acquaintance,  but  He  was  a  human 
being  and  could  talk.  Prale  was  just  a  bit  tired  of 
confining  his  conversation  to  waiters  and  cigar-store 
clerks. 

He  stopped  before  Shepley  and  cleared  his  throat. 

"Well,    we    meet    again,    Mr.    Shepley!"    he    said. 

Rufus  Shepley  looked  up,  and  then  sprang  to 
his  feet,  but  his  face  did  not  light  and  he  did  not 
extend  a  hand  in  greeting.  Instead,  his  countenance 
grew  crimson,  and  he  seemed  to  be  shaking  with 
anger. 

'  "You  presume  too  much  on  a  chance  acquaintance, 
sir!"  Rufus  Shepley  thundered.  "I  do  not  wish 
you  to  address  me  again — do  you  understand,  sir? 
Never  again — either  in  public  or  private!" 

"Why "    Prale   stammered. 

"I  don't  want  anything  to  do  with  a  man  of  your 
stamp!"  Rufus  Shepley  went  on.  "Ten  years  in 
Honduras,  were  you?  We  all  know  why  men  go 
to  Honduras  and  spend  years  there." 

Shepley  had  raised  his  voice,  and  all  in  the  lobby 
could  hear.  Men  began  moving  toward  them,  and 
women  began  walking  away,  fearing  a  scene  and  a 
quarrel. 

Sidney  Prale's  face  had  flushed,  too,  and  he  felt 
his  anger  rising  again. 

"I  am   sure   I   do   not  wish   to  continue  the   ac- 


42  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

quaintance  if  you  do  not,  sir,"  he  said.  "I  can 
be  courteous,   at  least." 

"Some  men  are  not  entitled  to  courtesy,"  Shepley 
roared. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"   Prale   demanded. 

"I  mean  that  I  don't  want  anything  to  do  with 
you,  that's  all!  I  don't  want  you  to  speak  to  me 
again!  I  don't  want  anybody  to  know  that  you 
even  know  me  by   sight!" 

"See  here !"  Prale  cried.  "You  can't  talk  to  me 
like  that  without  giving  me  some  explanation!  You 
can't  defame  me  before  other  men " 

"Defame  you?"  Shepley  cried.  "You  can't  make 
a  tar  brush  black,   sir?" 

Rage  was  seething  in  Prale  now.  There  was  quite 
a  crowd  around  them,  and  others  were  making  their 
way  forward. 

"I  don't  pretend  to  know  what  is  the  matter  with 
you,  and  I  don't  much  care!"  he  told  Shepley.  "If 
your  hair  wasn't  gray,  I'd  take  you  out  on  the  side- 
walk and  smash  your  face  in!  Please  understand 
that!" 

"Threaten  me,  will  you?" 

"I'm  not  threatening  you.  I  don't  fight  a  man 
with  one  foot  in  the  grave.'* 

"Why  you " 

"And  I  don't  care  to  have  you  address  me  in 
public  again,  either,"  Sidney  Prale  went  on.  "It 
probably    would    be    an    insult." 

"Confound  you,   sir!"   Shepley  cried. 

He  reached  forward  and  grasped  Prale  by  the  arm. 


A  FOE  AND  A  FRIEND  43 

Sidney  Prale  put  up  a  hand,  tore  the  grasp  loose, 
and  tossed  Rufus  Shepley  to  one  side. 

"Keep  your  paws  off  me!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  think 
that   you're    insane,    if   you   ask   me!" 

The  hotel  detective  came  hurrying  up. 

"You'll  have  to  cut  that  out!"  he  said.  "What's 
the  row  here,  anyway?" 

"The   place   is   harboring   a   maniac!"    Prale   said. 

"It's   harboring  a   crook!"    Shepley   cried. 

Prale  lurched  forward  and  grasped  him  by  both 
arms,  and  shook  him  until  Rufus  Shepley 's  teeth 
chattered. 

"Another  word  out  of  you,  and  I'll  forget  that 
your  hair  is  gray!"  Prale  exclaimed,  and  then  he 
tossed  Shepley  to  one  side  again. 

"Either  of  you  guests  here?"  the  house  detective 
demanded.  "No?  Then  maybe  you'd  both  better 
get  out  until  you  can  cool  off.  If  you  want  to  stage 
a  scrap,  go  down  and  rent  Madison  Square  Garden 
and  advertise  in  the  newspapers.  I  wouldn't  mind 
seeing  a  good  fight  myself.  But  this  lobby  isn't 
any  prize  ring.     Get  me?" 

Sidney  Prale,  his  face  still  flaming,  whirled  around 
and  started  for  the  entrance,  the  crowd  parting  to 
let  him  through.  Rufus  Shepley,  fuming  and  fuss- 
ing, followed  him  slowly.  The  house  detective  ac- 
companied him  to  the  door. 

Prale  was  waiting  at  the  curb,  a  Prale  whose  face 
was  white  now  because  of  the  temper  he  was  fighting 
to  control.     He  stepped  close  to  Shepley's  side. 

"I  don't  know  why  you  insulted  me,  but  don't  do 


44  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

it  again!"  Prale  said.  "I  ought  to  settle  with  you 
for  what  you've  said  already." 

The  house  detective,  who  had  heard,  stepped  for- 
ward again,  but  Sidney  Prale  swung  across  the  street 
and  went  on  his  way. 

He  walked  rapidly  for  a  dozen  blocks  or  more, 
paying  no  attention  to  where  he  was  going,  until 
his  anger   began  to  subside. 

"Why,  the  raving  maniac!"  he  gasped,  once  or 
twice. 

He  didn't  pretend  to  guess  what  it  meant.  Shepley 
had  seemed  to  be  friendly  enough  when  they  had 
separated  aboard  ship.  What  could  have  happened 
to  make  the  man  change  his  mind  and  attitude  .f* 

"Must  be  some  mistake!"  Prale  told  himself.  "If 
there  is  any  more  of  this,  I'll  have  to  get  to  the 
bottom  of  it!" 

He  reached  Madison  Square,  and  sat  down  on  a 
bench  to  smoke  and  regain  his  composure.  He 
knew  that  he  had  a  terrible  temper,  and  that  it  had 
to  be  controlled.  A  temper  that  flashed  was  all  right 
at  times  in  the  jungles  of  Honduras,  but  it  was  not 
the  proper  thing  to  exhibit  in  the  heart  of  New 
York  City.  It  might  get  him  into  serious  trouble 
with    somebody. 

He  finished  his  cigar,  listened  to  the  striking 
chimes,  and  lighted  another  smoke.  A  pedestrian 
stopped  beside  him. 

"Old  Sid  Prale,  or  I'm  a  liar!"  he  cried. 

Prale  looked  up,  and  then  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Jim    Farland,    the   sleuth!"    he   cried    in   answer. 


A  FOE  AND  A  FRIEND  45 

"Old  Jim,  the  holy  terror  to  evildoers.  Now  I  am 
glad  that  I'm  home!" 

"When  did  you  get  in?" 

"Yesterday.  Sit  down.  Have  a  cigar.  You're 
the   first   old   friend   I've  met!" 

Detective  Jim  Farland  sat  down  and  lighted  the 
cigar.     "You've  been  gone  some  time,"  he  said. 

"Ten  years,  Jim." 

"Went  away  rather  sudden,  didn't  you?" 

"I  did.  I  made  my  decision  one  night  and  sailed 
the  night  following,"  said  Prale. 

"I  always  wondered  why  you  went,  and  what  be- 
came of  you.  Had  a  good  job  with  old  Griffin, 
didn't    you?" 

"The  job  was  all  right,  Jim.  But  there  was  a 
girl " 

"Ah,  ha!" 

"And  she  threw  me  over  for  a  fellow  who  had 
some  money.  That  made  me  huffy,  of  course.  I 
swore  I'd  shake  the  dust  of  New  York  from  my 
shoes,  go  to  some  foreign  country,  take  with  me 
the  ten  thousand  dollars  I  had  saved,  and  turn  it 
into  a  million." 

"And  came  back  broke!"  Farland  said. 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,  Jim.  I  came  back  with  a 
million." 

"Great  Scott!  I  suppose  I'd  better  be  on  my  way 
then.  I  ain't  in  the  habit  of  having  millionaires 
let  me  associate  with  'em." 

"You  sit  where  you  are,  or  I'll  use  violence!" 
Prale   told   him.      "I   suppose   you   are   still    on   the 


46  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

force?  Still  fussing  around  down  in  the  financial 
district    watching    for    swindlers?" 

"I  left  the  force  three  years  ago,"  Jim  Farland 
replied.  "Couldn't  seem  to  get  ahead.  Too  honest, 
maybe — or  too  ignorant.  I'm  in  a  sort  of  private 
detective  business  now — got  an  office  up  the  street. 
Doing  fairly  well,  too — lots  of  old  friends  give  me 
work.     If  you  have  anything  in  my  line " 

"If  I  have,  you'll  get  a  job,"  said  Prale. 

"Let  me  slip  you  a  card,"  said  Farland.  "You 
never  know  when  you  may  need  a  detective.  So 
you  came  back  with  a  million,  eh?'* 

"And   ran   into   a   mess,"    Prale   added. 

"I  can't  imagine  a  man  with  a  million  running 
into  much  of  a  mess,"  Farland  said. 

"That's  all  you  know  about  it.  I  may  need  your 
services  sooner  than  you  think.  There  is  a  sort  of 
jinx    working    on    me,    it    appears." 

"Spill  it!"  Jim   Farland   said. 

Sidney  Prale  did.  He  related  what  had  happened 
at  the  bank,  at  the  hotel,  in  Griffin's  office,  and  told 
of   the   scene   with   Rufus   Shepley. 

"Funny!"  Farland  said,  when  he  had  finished.  "I 
know  old  Rufus  Shepley,  and  as  a  general  thing 
he  ain't  a  maniac.     Something  behind  all  this,  Sid." 

"Yes;  but  what  on  earth  could   it  be?" 

"That's  the  question.  If  anything  else  happens, 
and  you  need  help,   just  let  me  know." 

"I'll  do  that,  surely,"  said  Prale.  "And  Tm  glad 
that   I've  got  one   friend  left  in   town." 

"Always  have  one  as  long  as  I'm  here,"  Jim  Far- 


A  FOE  AND  A  FRIEND  47 

land  assured  him.  "And  it  ain't  because  of  your 
million,  either.     It's  true  about  the  million?" 

"Absolutely!" 

"Gee!  That's  more  than  old  Griffin  himself  has 
in  cash,  anyway,"  Farland  declared.  "Maybe  it's  a 
good  thing  that  girl  turned  you  down.  You'd  prob- 
ably be  a  clerk  at  a  few  thousand  a  year,  if  she 
hadn't.     How'd  you  make  the  coin?" 

"Mines  and  fruit  and  water  power  and  logs,"  said 
Prale. 

"Sounds  simple  enough.  When  the  detective  busi- 
ness goes  on  the  blink,  I  may  take  a  turn  at  it 
myself." 

"If  you  ever  need  money,  Jim,  call  on  me.  If 
you  want  to  engage  bigger  offices,  hire  operatives, 
branch  out " 

"Stop  it!"  Farland  cried.  "I  want  nothing  of  the 
kind.  I'm  a  peculiar  sort  of  duck — don't  care  about 
being  rich  at  all.  I  just  want  to  be  sure  I'll  have  a 
good  living  for  myself  and  the  wife  and  kids,  and 
have  a  few  friends,  and  be  able  to  look  every  man 
in  town  straight  in  the  eye.  I'd  rather  work  for  a 
friend  for  nothing  than  do  work  I  don't  like  for 
ten  thousand  an  hour." 

"I  believe  you!"  Prale  said. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   COUSIN 

AN  hour  later,  having  parted  with  Detective  Jim 
Farland,  Sidney  Prale  walked  slowly  up  Fifth 
Avenue,  determined  to  go  to  his  hotel  suite  and 
rest  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening.  His  con- 
versation and  short  visit  with  Farland  had  put  him 
in  a  better  humor.  There  was  no  mistaking  the 
quality  of  Farland' s  friendship.  He  and  Prale  had 
been  firm  friends  ten  years  before,  when  Farland 
was  on  duty  in  the  financial  district,  and  they  had 
made  it  a  point  at  that  time  to  eat  luncheon  together 
when  Farland's  duties  permitted. 

New  York  seemed  a  better  place,  even  with  one 
friend  among  several  million  persons.  So  Prale 
swung  his  stick  jauntily,  and  hummed  the  Spanish 
love  song  again,  and  told  himself  that  Rufus  Shepley 
and  Kate  Gilbert,  old  Griffin  and  the  hotel  manager 
and  the  rest  of  the  motley  crew  that  had  made  the 
day  miserable  for  him  amounted  to  nothing  in  the 
broader  scheme  of  things,  and  were  not  to  be  taken 
seriously. 

He  came  to  a  block  where  there  were  few  pedes- 
trians, where  the  great  shops  had  their  lights  out 
and  their  night  curtains  up.  He  heard  steps  behind 
him,    and    presently    a    soft    voice. 

"Sid!    Sid!" 


THE  COUSIN  49 

Sidney  Prale  whirled  around,  alert  and  on  guard, 
for  he  did  not  recognize  the  voice.  A  medium-sized 
man  stood  before  him,  a  man  of  about  his  own  age, 
who  had  a  furtive  manner  and  wore  a  beard. 

"Don't  you  know  me,   Sid?" 

"Can't   say   that   I   do!" 

"Why,  I'm  your  cousin,  George  Lerton.  I'm  the 
only  relative  you've  got  in  the  world,  unless  you 
got  married  while  you  were  away." 

Prale  stepped  aside  so  that  the  nearest  light  flashed 
on  the   face   of   the  man  before   him. 

"Well,  if  it  isn't!"  he  said.  "Didn't  recognize  you 
at  first.  How  long  have  you  been  wearing  the  alfalfa 
on  your  face?" 

"Two  or  three  years,"  George  Lerton  told  him, 
grinning  a  bit.  "I  saw  your  name  in  the  passenger 
list,  Sid,  and  wanted  to  see  you.  I  found  out  where 
you  are  stopping " 

"Why  didn't  you  come  to  the  hotel,  then,  or  leave 
a  note?"  Prale  asked.      "Come  on  up  now." 

"I — I  wanted  to  talk  to  you " 

"And  I  want  to  talk  to  you.  What  are  you  doing 
for  yourself,  George?  Still  working  in  a  broker's 
office?" 

"Oh,  I've  got  an  office  of  my  own  now.'* 

"Getting   along   all    right?" 

"Fairly  well,"  Lerton  said.  "Business  has  been 
pretty  good  the  last  year." 

"Maybe  you  can  dig  up  a  few  good  investments 
for  me,  then,"  Prale  said.    "I've  got  some  coin  now." 

"I  understand  that  you're  worth  a  million,   Sid.'* 


50  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

"Yes,  I've  made  my  pile,  and  came  back  to  New 
York  to  enjoy  it.     But  come  along   to   the   hotel.'* 

"I'd— I'd   rather  not." 

"Why  not?  We've  got  to  talk  over  old  times  and 
find  out  about  each  other.   We're  cousins,  you  know." 

The  truth  of  the  matter  was  that  Sidney  Prale 
never  had  thought  very  much  of  his  cousin.  Ten 
years  before  they  had  worked  side  by  side  for 
Griffin,  the  broker.  There  was  something  furtive  and 
shifty  about  George  Lerton,  but  he  never  had  pre- 
sumed on  his  relationship,  at  least.  He  and  Sidney 
Prale  had  been  courteous  to  each  other,  but  never 
had  been  warm   friends. 

They  came  from  different  branches  of  the  family. 
Lerton  had  some  traits  of  character  that  Prale  did 
not  admire,  but  he  always  told  himself  that  perhaps 
he  was  prejudiced.  They  had  seen  a  deal  of  each 
other  in  a  social  way  in  the  old  days, 

"Let  us  just  talk  as  we  walk  along,"  Lerton  now 
said. 

"All  right,  if  you  have  an  engagement,"  Prale  re- 
plied. "We  can  get  together  later,  I  suppose.  How 
have   the  years  been  using  you?      Married?" 

"I  was — I  am  a  widower." 

"Sorry,"   said   Prale.      "Children?" 

"No — not  any  children.  I — I  married  Mary 
Slade." 

"What?"  Prale  cried. 

He  stopped,  aghast.  Mary  Slade  had  been  the  girl 
who  had  turned  him  down  for  a  man  with  money — 
and  that  man  had  not  been  George  Lerton,  who  did 
not  have  as  much  as  five  thousand  at  that  time. 


THE  COUSIN  51 

"It — it's  a  peculiar  story/'  Lerton  said.  "You 
went  away  so  quick — after  you  quarreled  with  her. 
And  that  other  man — she  threw  him  over,  soon. 
She  couldn't  endure  him,  even  with  all  his  money. 
She  regretted  her  quarrel  with  you.  I'm  quite  sure 
she  wanted  you  for  a  time.  I  got  to  taking  her 
about.  You  didn't  write,  and  she  was  too  proud  to 
look  you  up,  and  so — after  a  time " 

"You  married  her,"  said  Prale. 

"About  three  years  after  you  went  away,  Sid. 
She  died  after  we  had  been  married  a  year." 

"But  she  always  wanted  money,  and  I  had  as 
much    as    you." 

"I  made  a  strike  soon  after  you  left,  Sid.  I 
plunged  with  my  five  thousand,  and  turned  it  into 
a  hundred  thousand  inside  four  months.  I  kept  on, 
and  got  more.  I  was  worth  almost  half  a  million 
when  we  were  married." 

"I  see.  Well,  there  are  no  hard  feelings,  George. 
She  was  a  good  woman,  in  a  way,  and  I'm  sorry 
you  lost  her.  I  suppose  we'll  have  to  get  together, 
for   old   time's   sake." 

"Are  you  going  to  stay  here  long,  Sid?'* 

"Long?  I've  sold  out  all  my  Honduras  holdings, 
and  I'm  here  to  spend  the  rest  of  my  days.  I've 
come  home  for  good,  George.  The  United  States 
is  plenty  good  enough  for  me.  I'm  going  to  be  a 
civilized  gentleman  from  now  on.'* 

"You — you're  not  going  back?" 

"Why  should  I?  I  brought  that  million  with 
me.    I  left  nothing  in  Honduras  except  a  few  friends. 


52  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

I  suppose  I'll  run  down  there  some  day  and  see  them, 
but  this  is  going  to  be  home,  you  can  bet." 

"Don't  do   it,   Sid!"   Lerton  exclaimed. 

"Don't  do  what?" 

"Don't  stay  here,  Sid.  Get  out  as  quick  as  you 
canl  Go  back  to  Honduras — ^anywhere — ^but  don't 
stay  in  New  York." 

"Why  shouldn't  1?  What  on  earth  is  the  matter 
with  you?     Are  you  insane?" 

"I — I  can't  tell  you,  Sid.  But  you  are  in  danger 
if  you  don't  leave  New  York.  I  can  tell  you  that 
much.  That's  why  I  didn't  call  at  the  hotel;  I'm 
afraid.  Sid,  I'm  afraid  to  have  anybody  see  me 
talking  to  you.  If  you  came  to  my  office,  I'd  refuse 
to  see  you " 

"Why?"  demanded  Sidney  Prale,  in  a  stern  voice. 

"I — I  can't  explain,   Sid." 

"I've  endured  a  lot  of  nonsense  to-day,  and  I'm 
not  going  to  endure  any  more!"  Prale  said.  "You're 
going  to  open  your  mouth  and  tell  me  what  you 
mean,  if  I  have  to  manhandle  you." 

"You  can  beat  me  until  I'm  unconscious,  Sid,  but 
you  can't  make  me  talk!"  Lerton  told  him. 

"But  what  does  it  all  mean?" 

"You'd  better  go  away,  Sid;  you'd  better  get  out 
of  the  country  and  stay  out!" 

"No  reason  why  I  should.  I  never  gave  up  my 
citizenship;  I  haven't  done  anything  wrong.  I'm 
back  in  my  old  home,  and  I  fail  to  see  why  I 
shouldn't  remain  here  if  that  Is  my  wish.'* 

"But  you're  in  danger!" 


THE  COUSIN  53 

"In  danger  from  what?"  Sidney  Prale  cried. 

"You  have  powerful  enemies,  Sid." 

"Why?" 

"I — I  don't  know,  exactly.  But  you  have  power- 
ful enemies.  Some  of  my  best  customers  have  in- 
formed me  that  they  are  through  doing  business  with 
me  if  I  have  anything  to  do  with  you.  They  told  me 
that  before  you  had  been  back  three  hours." 

"Powerful  enemies?     Why?     Business  enemies?" 

"I— I  don't  know." 

"Um!  So  that  is  why  the  bank  refused  my  de- 
posit, why  I  was  turned  out  of  a  hotel,  and  why 
old  Rufus  Shepley  raised  such  a  row  with  me! 
Powerful  enemies,  have  I?  But  there  isn't  sense  in 
it!  I  haven't  done  anything  to  make  powerful  ene- 
mies, or  any  other  kind,  I'm  about  fed  up  with 
this  stuff!" 

"Go  away,  Sid.  You've  got  money — you  can  live 
anywhere !" 

"You  bet  I  can!  And  I'm  going  to  live  in  New 
York!" 

"Don't  try  it,   Sid!" 

Prale  whirled  and  faced  him,  **You  know  more 
than  you're  telling!"  he  accused,  "You  open  your 
face  and  talk!  I  never  did  have  any  too  much  love 
for  you,  and  you  can  wager  that  I'm  not  going  to 
let  you  frighten  me  into  running  away  from  New 
York!     Talk!" 

"I  haven't  anything  more  to  say,  Sid!" 

"If  I  have  to  choke  it  out  of  you  right  here " 

"You'd  better  not.  It  would  give  your  enemies 
a  chance!" 


54  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

"Lerton,  I've  fought  the  Honduras  jungles!  I've 
fought  half -savage  men  and  treacherous  employees, 
snakes  and  fever,  financial  sharks  and  common  ad- 
venturers. I  didn't  come  back  to  New  York  to 
back  down  in  front  of  a  man  like  you — or  half  a 
hundred  like  you.  Maybe  that  is  strong  talk — 
but  you  have  it  coming!  Give  my  enemies  a  chance? 
I'll  give  them  all  the  chance  they  want.  Maybe 
they'll  come  into  the  open,  then,  and  let  me  see  whom 
I'm  fighting!  I  don't  like  foes  that  fight  from  the 
dark!" 

"You'd  better  go  away,  Sid.  I'm  talking  for  your 
own  good!" 

"For  my  good?  For  yours,  you  mean!  Afraid 
you'll  lose  a  few  customers  and  a  few  dollars,  by 
standing  by  your  cousin,  are  you?  Why  don't  you 
be  a  man,  tell  me  what  you  know,  help  me  to  fight! 
Bah!      I'm  disgusted  with  you!" 

He  hurled  George  Lerton  away  from  him,  curled 
his  lips  in  scorn  of  the  man. 

"I've  tried  to  warn  you,"  Lerton  whimpered. 

"I  don't  understand  this  and  I'm  sure  you  could 
explain  a  lot,  if  you  would.  Perhaps  I've  got  more 
dollars  than  the  customers  you  are  so  afraid  of 
losing.  Suppose  I  hand  my  million  to  you  for  in- 
vestment.     Will  you  talk,   then?" 

"I — I  wouldn't  dare  touch  it,"  Lerton  whimpered. 

Prale  looked  at  him  closely.  "It  must  be  some- 
thing pretty  bad  to  make  you  toss  aside  the  chance 
to  handle  a  million  in  investments,"  he  said.  "I 
know  you,  George!  You'd  sell  your  soul  for  money! 
You  got  anything  more  to  say  to  me  about  this?" 


THE  COUSIN  55 

"I — I  dare  not  say  anything  more." 

"Very  well.  If  you  are  afraid  to  be  seen  in  my 
presence,  kindly  keep  away  from  me  hereafter  and 
don't  worry  about  me  looking  you  up  at  your  office. 
I'll  not  take  the  trouble!" 

Sidney  Prale  said  nothing  more ;  he  whirled  around 
and  walked  rapidly  up  the  Avenue,  enraged,  wonder- 
ing what  it  all  meant,  determined  to  find  out  as  soon 
as  possible. 

Lerton    ran   after   him. 

"Won't  you   go   away,   Sid?"   he  whimpered. 

"No.  I'll  stay  here,  and  if  I  have  enemies  I'll 
fight  them!"  Prale  told  him.  "Why  are  you  so 
eager  to  have  me  run  away?" 

"I   don't   want   to   see  you   in   trouble,    Sid." 

"That's  peculiar.  In  the  old  days  you  used  to 
gloat  whenever  I  got  in  trouble.  You  seem  to  have 
a  wonderful  and  sudden  regard  for  my  welfare,  and 
I  can't  explain  it  to  myself." 

Once  more,  Prale  whirled  around  and  started  up 
the  Avenue.  His  brain  was  in  a  tumult.  What  did 
George  Lerton  know  that  he  refused  to  tell?  Why 
should  there  be  powerful  enemies?  He  knew  of 
no  reason  in  the  world. 

"He's  dead  eager  to  get  me  out  of  town,"  Prale 
mused.     "There's  something  behind  it,  all  right." 


CHAPTER  VI 

MURK — ^AND    MURDER 

INSTINCT,  intuition,  or  some  similar  faculty 
caused  Prale  to  turn  off  the  Avenue  eastward  to- 
ward the  river.  He  was  not  angry  now.  His  mind 
was  in  action.  He  had  convinced  himself  that  there 
was  something  behind  all  this,  and  he  was  eager  for 
the    solution. 

Those  mysterious  warnings  had  begun  on  board 
ship,  he  remembered.  The  piece  of  paper  Kate 
Gilbert  had  dropped,  and  which  he  had  picked  up, 
had  writing  similar  to  the  messages  he  had  received. 
He  would  have  to  engage  Jim  Farland,  he  told 
himself,  and  learn  a  few  things  concerning  Miss  Kate 
Gilbert. 

Had  the  journey  because  of  ill  health  been  a 
subterfuge?  Had  Kate  Gilbert  gone  to  Honduras 
to  watch  him?  If  she  had,  what  was  the  reason 
for   it? 

"It's  enough  to  make  a  man  a  maniac,"  Prale 
mused.  "And  that  Shepley  man!  He  was  all  right 
when  we  parted  on  the  ship.  Somebody  said  some- 
thing to  him  about  me  after  he  landed.  He  treated 
me  as  if  I  had  been  a  skunk." 

Then  he  thought  of  George  Lerton,  his  cousin. 
He  couldn't  quite  make  up  his  mind  about  Lerton. 
The  man   seemed   frenzied  in  his  eagerness   to  get 


MURK  AND  MURDER  57 

Prale  to  leave  New  York.  And  Prale  knew  that 
it  was  not  because  of  an  overwhelming  love  George 
Lerton  had  for  him,  not  anxiety  lest  ill  fortune 
should  come  to  Sidney  Prale. 

He  would  have  to  think  it  out,  he  told  himself. 
At  least,  he  knew  that  he  had  foes  working  against 
him,  and  could  be  on  guard  continually.  Down  in 
Honduras  he  had  won  a  reputation  as  a  fighter, 
and  a  fight  was  a  fight  in  any  clime,  he  knew;  there 
might  be  a  difference  in  the  rules  here  and  there, 
but  the  same  qualities  decided  the  winner. 

He  continued  walking  down  the  street  toward  the 
river.  In  Honduras  he  had  become  accustomed  to 
walking  up  and  down  the  beach  and  looking  at  the 
water  whenever  he  wanted  to  think  and  solve  some 
problem,  and  it  probably  was  habit  that  sent  him 
to  the  water  front  now. 

He  tossed  away  the  butt  of  his  cigar  and  did  not 
light  another  at  the  moment.  For  a  time  he  stood 
looking  out  at  the  black  water,  at  the  craft  plying 
back  and  forth,  their  lights  flashing.  He  stepped 
upon  a  little  dock  and  started  walking  its  length. 
After  a  time  he  came  near  the  end  of  it  without 
having  encountered  a  watchman,  and  sat  down  on 
a  box  in  a  dark,  secluded  corner. 

There,  his  back  braced  against  the  building  and 
the  building  shielding  him  from  the  cold  wind  that 
came  up  from  the  distant  sea,  Sidney  Prale  sat  and 
tried  to  think  it  out. 

One  thing  made  a  comfortable  thought — he  had 
money  with  which  to  fight.  Either  he  was  the  vic- 
tim of  some  injustice,  or  a  grave  mistake  was  being 


58  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

made.  He  wished  that  he  had  forced  George  Lerton 
to  tell  him  more,  and  he  decided  that  he  would  do 
so  if  they  met  again.  He  might  even  hunt  him  out 
and  force  him  to  speak.  Sidney  Prale  thought  noth- 
ing  of    handling   a    man    like    Lerton, 

He  heard  steps  on  the  dock  and  remained  silent 
in  the  darkness,  thinking  that  possibly  some  watch- 
man was  making  the  rounds.  If  he  was  discovered, 
he  would  say  that  he  had  been  looking  at  the  river, 
give   the   watchman  his   card  and  a   tip,   and   leave. 

The  steps  came  nearer  and  Prale  could  make  out 
the  form  of  a  man  slipping  along  the  dock's  edge 
in  a  furtive  manner.  There  was  not  light  enough 
for  Prale  to  see  his  features.  He  was  walking  bent 
over,  a  short,  heavy-set  man  who  did  not  wear  an 
overcoat. 

Prale  watched  as  the  man  passed  within  six  feet 
of  him  and  went  to  the  edge  of  the  dock.  There 
he  stood,  outlined  against  the  sky,  looking  down  at 
the  water.  Prale  imagined  that  he  heard  something 
like  a  sob,  and  gave  closer  attention.  Then  he  saw 
the  man  take  off  his  coat  and  drop  it  behind  him, 
remove  his  cap  and  place  it  on  the  coat,  and  look 
down  at  the  water  again. 

And  then  Sidney  Prale  sprang  straight  forward, 
and  grasped  the  body  of  the  other  as  it  was  in 
mid-air. 

"No,  you  don't!"  Prale  exclaimed. 

He  found  immediately  that  he  had  a  fight  on 
his  hands.  The  other  whirled  and  began  kicking 
and  striking.  Sidney  Prale  hurled  him  backward, 
rushed,  caught  him  up  again  in  a  better  hold,  threw 


MURK  AND  MURDER  59 

him  back  against  the  building,  and  held  him  there, 
breathless  and  panting. 

"Another  smash  out  of  you,  and  I'll  drop  you 
into  the  river  myself !"  Prale  said.  "Suppose  you 
take  time   to   get  your   breath   now." 

"I — I   thought   you   was   a   cop." 

"Afraid  of  the  cops?" 

"It's  against  the  law  to — to  try  to  commit  suicide." 

"So  I  understand,"  said  Prale.  "Well,  I  am  not 
a  cop.    Trying  to  drown  yourself,  were  you?    Why?" 

"Why  not?"  the  other  asked.  "I'm  done  with 
livin'." 

"Not  just  yet,  but  you  would  have  been  if  I 
hadn't  been   sitting   here." 

"I've  knocked  all  over  the  world — and  made  a 
few  mistakes,"  said  the  derelict.  "Oh,  nothin'  that 
would  get  me  in  trouble  with  the  cops!  But  I 
just  found  out  that  I'm  clutterin'  up  the  earth  and 
don't  amount  to  anything.  I'm  sick  of  half  starvin' 
to  death,  and  workin'  like  a  dog  when  I  get  the 
chance  just  to  get  enough  to  keep  a  few  old  clothes 
hung  on  me." 

"Disgusted  generally  with  your  lot?"  Prale  asked. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Friends   or   relatives  ?'* 

"Not  any." 

"What's  your  name?"   Prale  asked. 

"You  mean  my  real  name?  I  don't  remember. 
It's  been  so  long  since  I've  used  it,  and  I've  used 
so  many  others  since  that  I  don't  know.  What's 
the    difference?" 

"I'll  call  you  Murk,"  said  Prale.     "That  expresses 


6o  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

the  dark  river,  the  deed  you  were  about  to  do,  and 
the  evident  state  of  your  feelings." 

"It's    as    good    as    any,    I    suppose." 

"What's  your  particular  grievance  against  the 
world  in  general?" 

"It  ain't  anything  in  particular,"  said  Murk.  "It's 
just  general." 

"I  see.    A  drifter,  are  you?" 

"I  reckon  I  am." 

"Sore  at  existence,  eh?'* 

"Well,  what's  the  use  of  livin'?"  Murk  demanded. 
"There  ain't  a  man,  woman  or  child  in  the  world 
that  gives  a  whoop  what  becomes  of  me.  I'm  just 
in  the  way  to  be  kicked  around." 

"Maybe  you  haven't  found  your  proper  place  in 
the  scheme  of  things." 

"I've  sure  done  some  travelin*  lookin'  for  it, 
boss,  but  maybe  I  ain't  found  it,  as  you  say.  I 
sure  ain't  found  any  place  that  looks  like  it  needed 
me  bad." 

"Hard  to  make  a  living?" 

"Oh,  I  get  along.  But,  what's  the  use?"  Murk 
wanted  to  know.  "I  ain't  got  anybody — I  get  lone- 
some lots  of  times.  If  I  had  money.  It  might  be 
different." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  said  Prale,  smiling 
a  bit.  "I've  got  a  million  dollars,  and,  as  far  as  I 
know  right  this  minute,  I  have  just  one  friend  in 
New  York." 

"If  I  had  a  million  dollars  I  wouldn't  care  whether 
I  had  a  friend  or  not,"  Murk  said. 

"You  can  be  just  as  lonesome  with  a  million  dol- 


MURK  AND  MURDER  6i 

lars  as  you  can  without  a  cent,"  Prale  told  him.  "I 
was  sitting  down  here  because  I  was  lonesome,  and 
because  there  are  some  enemies  working  at  me,  and 
I  don't  know  who  they  are  or  why  they  want  to 
trouble  me." 

"Well,  let's  jump  in  the  drink  together,"  Murk 
said. 

"Why  not  fight  it  out?"  asked  Sidney  Prale. 

"Mister,  I've  been  fightin'  for  years,  and  it  don't 
get  me  anything.  It  just  tires  me  out — that's  all. 
The  next  world  can't  be  any  worse  than  this." 

"Are  you  a  fighter,  or  a  quitter?" 

"Nobody  ever  called  me  a  quitter." 

"But  you  were  trying  to  be  a  few  minutes  ago. 
You  were  going  to  quit  like  a-  yellow  dog!"  Prale 
told  him.  "You  were  going  to  throw  up  the  sponge 
and  give  the  devil  a  laugh." 

"That's  between  me  and  the  devil — nobody  else 
would  care." 

"If  you  had  a  friend,  an  influential  friend,  and 
didn't  have  to  keep  up  a  continual  fight  to  hold  body 
and  soul  together,  could  you  manage  to  face  the 
world  a  little  longer?" 

"I  reckon  I  could." 

"How  old  are  you?" 

"Thirty-five,"  said  Murk. 

"Old  enough  to  have  some  sense.  I  am  three 
years  older.  I'm  almost  as  lonesome  as  you  are. 
Why  not  join  forces.  Murk?" 

"Sir?" 

"If  I  showed  you  a  corner  where  you  would  fit 


62  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

in,  would  you  be  loyal?  Would  you  stand  by  me, 
help  me  fight  if  it  was  necessary,  and  all  that?" 

"You  just  try  me — that's  all." 

"Very  well,  Murk,  I'm  going  to  trust  you.  I  told 
you  the  truth  when  I  said  I  had  a  million  dollars.  I 
have  but  one  friend  I  can  depend  upon,  and  I  have 
enemies.  I  like  to  fight.  Murk,  but  I  like  to  have 
a  good  pal  at  my  back  when  I  do." 

"That's  me,  too,  sir;  but  I  ain't  ever  had  the  pal." 

"You've  got  one  now.  Murk.  You'd  be  dead 
now,  but  for  me.  So  you  must  be  my  man,  under- 
stand?" 

"I  don't  quite  getcha." 

"You're  under  my  orders  from  now  on,  Murk. 
We'll  have  a  nice  row,  standing  back  to  back  per- 
haps. I'll  take  you  on  as  a  sort  of  valet  and  body- 
guard. You'll  have  good  clothes  and  a  home  and 
plenty  to  eat  and  a  bit  of  money  to  spend.  I'll 
expect  you  to  be  loyal.  If  I  find  that  you  are  not — 
well,  Murk,  I  got  back  yesterday  from  Central 
America.  I  got  my  million  down  there,  by  fighting 
for  it,  and  there  were  times  when  I  had  to  handle 
men  roughly.  I  can  read  men,  Murk.  Can  you 
imagine  what  I'd  do  to  a  man  who  double  crossed 
me?" 

"I  getcha  now!  You  needn't  be  afraid  I'll  double 
cross  you.     I  don't  think  this  is  real." 

"It's  real,  Murk,  if  we  strike  a  bargain.    Do  we?" 

"I've  got  everything  to  win  and  nothin'  to  lose — 
so  we  do!"  Murk  said. 

"Fair  enough.  Now  we'll  get  off  this  dock. 
Pick  up  your  cap  and  coat." 


MURK  AND  MURDER  63 

Murk  picked  them  up  and  put  them  on,  and 
then  he  followed  at  Prale's  heels  until  they  were  on 
the  street  and  beneath  the  nearest  light.  There  they; 
stopped  and  looked  each  other  over. 

Murk  was  short,  but  he  was  built  for  strength. 
Prale  could  tell  at  a  glance  that  the  man,  even 
poorly  nourished  as  he  was,  had  muscles  that  could 
be  depended  on.  Prale  liked  the  look  around  Murk's 
eyes,  too.  Murk  was  a  dog  man,  the  sort  that 
proves   faithful  to  the  end  if  treated  right. 

*'Well,  how  do  you  like  me?"  Prale  asked. 

"You  look  good  to  me,  sir." 

"My  name  is  Sidney  Prale." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Prale." 

"You   understand   our   little   deal   thoroughly?" 

"Yes,    sir." 

"Come  along,  then.     Here  is  a  cigar — light  up!" 

Murk  lighted  the  cigar,  and  Prale  lighted  another, 
and  they  went  rapidly  up  the  street  to  Fifth  Avenue. 
Prale  signaled  a  passing  taxicab,  and  they  got  in. 
When  the  cab  stopped,  it  was  in  a  district  where 
some  cheap  clothing  stores  remain  open  until  almost 
midnight. 

Half  an  hour  later  they  emerged  again.  Murk 
was  dressed  in  a  suit  which  was  somber  in  tone,  and 
which  was  not  at  all  a  bad  fit.  He  was  dressed 
in  new  clothing  from  the  skin  out.  Prale  took  him 
to  a  barber  shop,  and  waited  until  the  barber  gave 
Murk  a  hair  cut  and  a  shave. 

"Gosh!"  Murk  said,  when  he  looked  at  himself 
in  the  glass.     "This  can't  be  me!" 


64  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

"It  is,  however,"  Prale  assured  him.  "Now,  we'll 
go  home,  Murk,  and  get  settled." 

"Where  is  home?" 

Prale  named  the  hotel. 

"I'd  get  thrown  out  on  my  bean  if  I  ever  stuck 
my  nose  in  the  kitchen  door,"   Murk   said. 

"You're  not  going  into  the  kitchen,  Murk.  You're 
going  to  be  registered  as  my  valet  and  bodyguard, 
and  you're  going  up  in  the  elevator  with  me.  Kindly 
remember.  Murk,  that  you  are  the  personal  servant 
of  Mr.  Sidney  Prale." 

"Yes,   sir. 

"And  your  boss  has  a  million  dollars  and  nobody 
knows  how  many  secret  enemies.  Those  things  give 
you  a  standing.  Murk.  When  we  are  alone,  of 
course,  you'll  be  a  sort  of  pal.  I  never  had  a 
valet  before  and  I  couldn't  stand  a  regular  one. 
Instead  of  being  a  valet,  when  we  are  alone,  I 
want  you  to  be  a  regular  fellow." 

"I  getcha,   Mr.    Prale." 

"Off  we  go,  then." 

They  arrived  at  the  hotel,  and  Prale  registered 
Murk  as  his  valet  and  took  him  up  to  the  suite. 

"You  bunk  in  there,  Murk,"  Prale  said,  pointing 
to  another  room.  "Take  a  bath  and  go  to  bed 
and  get  some  rest.  If  you  are  inclined  to  throw 
me  down,  you'll  find  some  money  and  jewelry  in 
the  top  drawer  of  the  dresser.  Rob  me  and  sneak 
out  during  the  night,  if  you  want  to.  Cut  my  throat, 
if  it's  necessary." 

"You  needn't  be  afraid,  sir — ^you  can  trust  me!" 

"I  do!"  said  Sidney  Prale. 


MURK  AND  MURDER  65 

Prale  slept  well  that  night.  When  he  awoke  in 
the  morning,  Murk  was  dressed  and  sitting  by  the 
window.  He  drew  Prale's  bath  without  being  told, 
and  then  stood  around  as  if  waiting  to  be  of  service. 

"I — I  found  this  slipped  under  your  door,  sir,"  he 
said,  after  a  time. 

"What  is  it.  Murk?" 

"A  piece  of  paper  with  writing  on  it,  sir." 

"More  news  from  the  enemy,  I  suppose.  What 
does  it  say?" 

"It  says  as  how  a  man's  sin  always  finds  him  out." 

"That's  interesting,  isn't  it?  Do  you  think  I  am 
a  sinner  of  some  sort,  Murk?" 

"I  don't  care  if  you  are,  sir!" 

"Murk!  You  needn't  get  excited  about  it.  Put 
the  paper  in  the  lower  drawer  of  the  dresser;  I'm 
making  a  collection  of  them,"  Prale  said.  He  went 
back  into  the  other  room  and  continued  dressing. 
"Go  to  the  telephone  and  order  breakfast  served 
to  us  here,  Murk,"  he  directed. 

"^What   shall    I    order,    sir?" 

"Order  plenty  of  whatever  you  like,  and  tell  them 
to  make  it  double,"  said  Prale. 

Murk  grinned  and  gave  a  proper  order.  Prale 
was  dressed  by  the  time  the  breakfast  was  served. 
He  and  Murk  made  a  hearty  meal. 

And  then  Prale  lighted  his  morning  cigar  and 
began  reading  the  newspapers.  Murk  went  around 
the  suite,  straightening  things  and  trying  to  be  of 
service.  He  looked  at  Sidney  Prale  often;  it  was 
plain  to  be  seen  that  Prale  was  Murk's  kind  of  man. 


66  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"See  who  it  is,  Murk,"  Sidney  Prale  said. 

He  did  not  even  look  up  from  the  paper  he  was 
reading.  He  supposed  it  was  some  hotel  employee. 
Murk  stalked  across  to  the  door  and  threw  it  open. 
Two  men  stood  there.  Murk  flinched  when  he  saw 
them.  He  did  not  know  either  of  them,  but  he  knew 
them  immediately  for  what  they  were.  Murk  was  a 
man  of   experience. 

"Mr.  Prale  in?"  one  of  them  asked. 

"Yes,  sir. 

Without  asking  permission,  the  two  men  stepped 
inside,  and  one  of  them  closed  the  door.  Prale 
dropped  the  newspaper  and  turned  around  to  face 
them. 

"Are  you  Sidney  Prale?"  one  of  them  asked. 
1  am. 

"You  are  under  arrest,   Mr.   Prale." 

"I  beg  your  pardon?" 

"Under  arrest,"  I  said.  "You  know  your  rights, 
perhaps,  so  you  need  not  talk  unless  you  wish  to 
do  so." 

"You  are  officers?" 

They  showed  their  shields. 

"Straight  from  headquarters,"  one  of  them  replied. 
"We  want  to  take  a  look  around  your  room  while 
we  are  here." 

"Suppose,"  said  Sidney  Prale,  "that  you  tell  me, 
first,  why  I  am  under  arrest?  Of  what  crime  am 
I  accused?" 

"You  are  charged  with  murder." 


MURK  AND  MURDER  67 

"Murder?  What  crazy  joke  is  this?"  Prale  cried. 
"And  what  particular  person  am  I  accused  of  mur- 
dering?" 

"You  are  charged  with  the  murder  of  Mr.  Rufus 
Shepley/'  the  detective  repHed. 


CHAPTER  VII 

EVIDENCE 

MANY  times  in  his  life,  Sidney  Prale  had  been 
greatly  surprised,  astonished,  shocked.  But 
never  had  he  experienced  such  a  feeling  as  he  did 
at  this  bald  announcement  of  a  police  detective. 

The  statement  was  like  a  blow  between  the  eyes. 
Prale  stared  at  the  two  detectives  for  an  instant, 
his  face  flushed,  and  then  he  began  to  laugh. 

"It  isn't  a  laughing  matter,  Mr.  Prale,"  one  of  the 
detectives  told  him. 

"Pardon  me,  but  it  is  so  utterly  preposterous," 
Prale  replied.  "I  fail  to  see  how  I  can  be  accused 
of  such  a  crime.  I  am  not  a  cutthroat,  and  Rufus 
Shepley  was  a  man  I  met  on  shipboard  casually, 
and  have  seen  him  only  once  since." 

"You  can  do  your  talking  at  headquarters,  Mr. 
Prale,"  the  officer  said.  "I'll  have  to  ask  you  to 
come  along  with  us,  I'll  leave  my  partner  here  to 
look  through  your  rooms." 

"The  sooner  I  get  to  headquarters,  the  sooner  this 
thing  will  be  straightened  out,"  Prale  said.  "Murk, 
you  will  remain  here  in  the  rooms  until  you  hear 
from  me.  Let  the  officer  look  at  anything  he  wishes 
to  inspect." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Murk,  glaring  at  the  two  detec- 
tives. 


EVIDENCE  69 

Prale  faced  the  detective  who  had  been  speaking 
to  him. 

"Be  with  you  as  soon  as  I  get  my  hat  and  coat,'* 
he  said.  "It'll  not  be  necessary,  I  hope,  to  put  hand- 
cuffs on  me." 

"We  can  go  to  headquarters  in  a  taxi,  and  I 
guess  I  can  handle  you  if  you  try  any  tricks,"  the 
detective  replied. 

"There  are  going  to  be  no  tricks  tried,"  Prale  said. 

"Nevertheless,  I  think  I'll  keep  a  close  eye  on  you." 

"Do  so,  by  all  means!"  Prale  retorted. 

"Ain't  there  anything  I  can  do,  sir?"  Murk  asked. 

"Nothing  except  to  remain  in  the  rooms  until  you 
hear  from  me,"  Prale  told  him.  "If  I  should — er — 
be  detained,  I'll  probably  send  for  you." 

"Very  well,  sir." 

One  of  the  detectives  left  the  suite  with  Prale  and 
walked  down  the  hall  to  the  elevator.  The  second 
officer  remained  behind  to  go  through  Prale's  things 
in  an  effort  to  find  evidence. 

Prale  said  nothing  regarding  the  crime  as  they 
journeyed  in  the  taxicab  to  police  headquarters.  His 
mind  was  busy,  though.  This  appeared  to  be  a  cul- 
mination of  the  annoyances  to  which  he  had  been 
subjected. 

At  headquarters  he  was  ushered  into  a  room 
where  a  captain  of  detectives  awaited  him. 

"Don't  have  to  talk  unless  you  want  to,  Mr. 
Prale,  but  it  probably  will  be  better  for  you  to  do  so, 
and  have  an  end  of  it,"  the  captain  said.  "Why  did 
you  kill  Rufus  Shepley?" 

"That's  a  fool  question.     I  didn't  kill  him.     I  had 


TO  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

no  idea  he  was  dead  until  the  officer  arrested  me  for 
his  murder.  I  scarcely  know  the  man,  captain.  I 
made  his  acquaintance  aboard  a  ship  coming  from 
Central  America,  and  I  met  him  but  once  after  leav- 
ing the  ship.  He  told  me  his  business  and  gave  me  his 
card,  and  that  is  all.  I'm  ready  to  answer  any  ques- 
tions you  may  ask.  This  is  some  terrible  mistake.  I 
want  to  talk  about  it — have  an  end  of  it,  as  you  say." 

"Very  well,  Prale,"  the  captain  said. 

"Mr.  Prale,  if  you  please.  I  have  not  been  con- 
victed yet  and  am  entitled  to  some  courtesy,  it  seems 
to  me.'' 

"All  right,  if  you're  going  to  be  nasty  about  it," 
the  captain  said.  "But  you  won't  gain  anything  by 
taking  a  high-and-mighty  attitude  with  me." 

"I  simply  object  to  being  addressed  in  the  tone 
you  used,"  Prale  replied.  "I  am  no  crook.  Let's 
get  down  to  business.  Ask  me  any  questions  you 
like,  and  I'd  like  to  ask  a  few  myself." 

"That  is  fair  enough,"  the  captain  said,  a  shrewd 
expression  coming  into  his  face. 

"Suppose  you  take  it  for  granted,  for  a  few  min- 
utes, that  I  am  innocent,  and  tell  me  when  Rufus 
Shepley  was  killed,  and  where,  and  just  how." 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Prale.  A  hotel  attendant  found 
the  body  at  an  early  hour  this  morning.  It  was  in 
Mr.  Shepley's  room.  The  man  was  fully  dressed. 
The  physicians  say  that  he  was  killed  about  eleven 
o'clock  last  night." 

"I  understand;  go  on,  please." 

"He  had  been  stabbed  through  the  heart,"  said  the 
captain.     "Death  had  been  instantaneous." 


EVIDENCE  71 

"But  why  suspect  me  of  the  crime?"  Prale  asked. 

"This  was  found  beside  the  body,"  the  captain 
replied. 

From  the  desk  before  him  he  picked  up  a  fountain 
pen.  It  was  an  elaborate  pen,  chased  with  gold,  and 
on  one  side  of  it  was  a  tiny  gold  plate,  upon  which 
Prale's  name  had  been  engraved. 

"You  recognize  it?"  the  captain  asked. 

"Certainly;  it  is  mine." 

"Oh,  you  admit  that,  do  you?" 

"Naturally.  But  I  fail  to  see  how  it  came  to  be 
beside  the  body  of  Rufus  Shepley." 

"A  man  who  has  committed  a  murder  generally  is 
in  a  hurry  to  get  away,"  said  the  captain.  "It  is  easy 
to  drop  a  fountain  pen  from  a  pocket,  especially  if  a 
man  is  bending  over." 

"I  don't  even  know  where  Shepley's  rooms  were 
located,"  Prale  said.  "I  didn't  know  the  pen  was 
missing  until  this  minute " 

"Possibly  not,"  replied  the  captain  of  detectives. 

"And  I  am  quite  sure  I  do  not  know  how  it  came 
to  be  beside  the  body,  but  of  one  thing  I  am  certain 
— I  did  not  drop  it  there." 

"Naturally,  you  would  say  that." 

"And  where  is  the  motive?"  Prale  demanded. 
"Suppose  you  tell  me  what  you  have  against  me,  and 
then  I'll  proceed  to  tear  your  shabby  evidence  to 
pieces." 

"We  have  this  particular  case  so  well  in  hand  that 
I  can  afford  to  do  that,"  the  captain  said.  "Attend 
me  closely  and  you'll  see  the  futility  of  denying  your 
guilt." 


^2  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

"I  am  waiting  to  hear  the  evidence,"  Prale  said. 

"Very  well.  In  the  first  place,  you  have  recently 
spent  some  years  in  Central  America." 

"Ten  years  in  Honduras,"  said  Prale. 

"You  made  a  fortune  down  there.  We  have  com- 
municated with  the  authorities  there  and  have  learned 
many  things  about  you.  We  have  learned  that  you 
have  a  hot  temper  and  know  how  to  handle  men. 
You  have  been  known  to  beat  natives  terribly " 

"Rot!  I  was  kinder  than  nine  out  of  ten  men  of 
affairs.  I  have  punished  a  few  natives  caught  steal- 
ing, for  instance." 

"Recently,  Mr.  Prale,  you  cashed  in  on  all  your 
properties  down  there  and  announced  that  you  were 
about  to  leave  the  country." 

"That  is  correct,"  said  Prale.  "I  made  the  million 
I  went  down  there  to  make.  Honduras  is  all  right  in 
some  ways,  but  a  man  likes  to  live  with  his  own 
kind.  My  home  was  in  New  York,  and  so,  naturally, 
I  decided  to  return  here." 

"Did  you  not  tell  some  of  your  friends  and  ac- 
quaintances, before  you  left,  that  you  were  returning 
to  New  York  for  a  certain  purpose." 

"I  suppose  that  I  did.  My  purpose  was  no  secret. 
I  had  my  pile  and  wanted  to  enjoy  life  a  bit  and  per- 
haps I  wanted  to  show  off  a  bit,  .too.  That  was  only 
natural,  I  suppose.     I  am  proud  of  my  success." 

"Did  you  not  hint  that  the  purpose  was  something 
sinister — that  you  were  going  to  have  revenge,  or 
something  like  that?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"Very  well;  let  us  get  on,"  said  the  captain  of  de- 


EVIDENCE  73 

tectives.  "You  say  that  you  first  met  Rufus  Shepley 
aboard  the  Manatee?" 

"Never  saw  him  in  my  life  until  I  met  him  in  the 
smoking  room  on  the  ship,  and  never  had  heard  his 
name  before." 

"That  is  peculiar.  Mr.  Shepley  was  a  man  of 
large  affairs." 

"But  I  had  been  in  Honduras  for  ten  years,  out 
of  touch  with  men  of  affairs  in  the  United  States," 
Prale  replied,  "I  did  the  most  of  my  business  with 
firms  in  South  America." 

"Just  how  did  you  happen  to  meet  Mr.  Shepley?" 

"In  the  smoking  room.  We  spoke,  as  passengers 
are  liable  to  speak  to  each  other  on  a  boat  or  a  train. 
We  talked  of  ordinary  things  and  exchanged  cards." 

"Did  you  happen  to  play  cards?" 

"One  evening,  for  a  short  time.  But  the  game 
did  not  amount  to  anything,  and  we  quit  early.  Are 
you  trying  to  insinuate  that  I  killed  the  man  as  the 
outcome  of  a  gambling  quarrel?" 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  said  the  captain,  "Let  us 
get  on.  You  had  no  trouble  with  Mr.  Shepley  on  the 
ship — no  trouble  of  any  sort?" 

"Not  the  slightest.  We  parted  good  friends  just 
before  the  ship  docked.  I  went  to  my  stateroom  for 
my  things  and  I  suppose  that  he  did  the  same." 

"When  did  you  see  him  next?"  the  captain  asked. 

"Last  evening,  in  the  lobby  of  a  hotel  on  Broad- 
way," said  Prale. 

"What  happened  then?" 

"Ah,  I  see  where  you  are  trying  to  get  the  motive," 
Prale  said.     "But  I  think  that  you  will  agree  with 


74  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

me,  before  we  are  done,  that  it  is  a  slim  thing  upon 
which  to  hang  a  serious  charge  of  murder.  I  saw 
Mr.  Shepley  sitting  in  the  lobby  and  went  up  and 
spoke  to  him.  We  had  been  friendly  on  the  ship,  I 
was  feeling  lonesome,  and  was  glad  to  find  some- 
body with  whom  I  could  talk.  Besides,  he  had  ex- 
pressed a  desire  to  see  me  again." 

"Well,  what  happened?" 

"Something  I  am  at  a  loss  to  understand.  He  be- 
rated me  for  daring  to  address  him.  He  acted  like 
a  maniac.  I  rebuked  him  for  his  manner,  and  the 
hotel  detective  advised  us  to  leave  the  place  until  we 
cooled  off,  or  something  like  that." 

"Who  left  first?"  the  captain  asked. 

"I  did.  I  was  angry  because  there  was  a  crowd 
around  and  I  hated  the  scene  that  had  been  caused. 
I  went  through  the  main  entrance  and  stepped  to  the 
curb." 

"Shepley  follow  you?" 

"Almost  immediately." 

"And  you  went  up  to  him  and  threatened  him, 
didn't  you?" 

Prale  thought  a  moment.  "I  told  him  that  I 
didn't  know  why  he  had  insulted  me,  but  I  didn't 
want  him  to  do  it  again." 

"What  else?"  the  captain  demanded. 

"I  believe  I  said  that  I  ought  to  settle  with  him 
for  what  he  had  said  already." 

"And  then " 

"And  then  I  went  on  down  the  street.  The  hotel 
detective,  I  think,  heard  me  speak  to  Mr,   Shepley." 

"Yes,  I  know  that  he  did,"  said  the  captain.    "And 


EVIDENCE  75 

the  hotel  detective  also  says  that  you  were  white  with 
anger,  and  that  you  went  off  down  Broadway  like  a 
man  with  murder  in  his  mind.  Do  you  care  to  say 
anything  more?" 

"Of  course,"  said  Prale.  "I  went  down  to  Madi- 
son Square,  and  there  I  sat  down  on  a  bench." 

"Meet  anybody  there?" 

"I  did.  I  met  an  old  friend,  Jim  Farland,  who 
used  to  be  on  your  detective  force,  and  who  now 
runs  a  private  agency." 

"1  know  Farland  well,  and  I'll  send  for  him." 

"I  talked  with  Jim  for  some  time,"  Prale  went  on. 
"I  told  him,  I  believe,  that  I  seemed  to  have  enemies 
working  in  the  dark.  I  told  him  about  the  scene 
with  Shepley." 

"Um!     What  did  Farland  have  to  say?" 

"Nothing,  except  that  he  couldn't  understand  why 
Shepley  had  acted  so.  We  talked  the  matter  over 
for  a  while  and  then  we  separated." 

"Very  well.     And  where  did  you  go  next?" 

"I  walked  up  Fifth  Avenue,"  said  Prale.  "It  was 
after  nine  o'clock  by  that  time." 

"Go  straight  to  your  hotel?" 

"I  did  not,"  Prale  said. 

"Care  to  tell  me  where  you  went  and  what  you 
did?" 

"I  have  no  objections.  I  walked  up  the  Avenue, 
and  met  my  cousin,  George  Lerton,  the  broker." 

"Meet  him  accidentally?" 

"He  overtook  me — called  to  me." 

"How  long  did  you  talk  to  him?" 

"For   only   a    few   minutes,"    said    Prale.      "You 


76  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

must  understand  that,  while  George  Lerton  is  my 
cousin,  we  are  not  exceptionally  friendly,  and  never 
have  been.  We  worked  for  the  same  firm  ten  years 
ago,  and  after  I  went  to  Honduras,  George  made 
some  money  and  got  into  business  for  himself;  at 
least  he  told  me  so  last  night." 

"So  you  merely  shook  hands  and  renewed  your 
acquaintance?"  the  captain  asked. 

"There  was  something  peculiar  about  the  meet- 
ing," Prale  replied. 

"In  what  way?" 

"Lerton  urged  me  to  le^ve  New  York  and  remain 
away.     He  said  that  I  had  powerful  enemies." 

"What  about  that?" 

"It  is  what  has  been  puzzling  me.  So  far  as  I 
know,  I  haven't  a  powerful  enemy  on  earth.  I  sup- 
pose I  have  a  few  business  foes  in  Central  America; 
a  man  can't  make  a  million  without  acquiring  some 
enemies  at  the  same  time.  But  I  don't  know  of  a 
single  influential  person  who  is  my  enemy." 

"Didn't  Lerton  explain  to  you?" 

"He  refused  to  do  so,"  said  Prale,  "and  I  told 
him  to  go  his  way  and  that  I'd  go  mine." 

"Doesn't  that  story  seem  a  bit  weak  to  you,  Mr. 
Prale?" 

"It  may,  but  it  is  a  true  story.  Get  Lerton  and 
question  him  if  you  wish.  I  couldn't  make  him  talk 
— maybe  you  can.  I'd  like  to  know  the  names  of 
these  enemies  of  mine,  if  I  really  have  them." 

"Anything  else  lead  you  to  believe  you  might  have 
enemies  ?" 

"Yes.     I  have  received  several  anonymous  notes, 


EVIDENCE  ^7 

some  on  board  ship  and  some  since  landing,  that  say 
something  about  retribution  about  to  be  visited  upon 
me." 

"Why?" 

"I  don't  know,  captain.  I  never  did  anything  in 
my  life  to  merit  such  retribution.  I  am  sure  of 
that." 

"What  time  was  it  when  you  parted  from  Lerton?'* 

"It  must  have  been  about  nine  thirty  or  a  quarter 
to  ten." 

"Go  to  3lpur  hotel  then?" 

"No;  I  turned  east  and  went  to  the  river." 

"Wasn't  that  a  peculiar  thing  to  do  at  that  hour 
of  the  night?" 

"It  may  seem  so  to  you,"  said  Prale,  "and  I 
scarcely  can  tell  why  I  did  it.  I  suppose  it  was  be- 
cause I  wanted  to  think  over  what  George  Lerton 
had  told  me,  and  down  in  Honduras  I  always  used 
to  walk  along  the  beach  when  I  was  thinking." 

"Well?" 

"I  went  out  on  a  dock  and  sat  down  in  the  dark- 
ness to  think." 

"How  long  did  you  remain  there?" 

"For  more  than  half  an  hour;  and  I  had  an  ex- 
perience. Another  man  came  on  the  dock.  He  was 
going  to  jump  into  the  river,  but  I  convinced  him 
that  suicide  was  folly,  and  said  I've  give  him  a  job." 

"Did  you?" 

"I  did,"  said  Prale.  "I  took  him  downtown  and 
bought  him  some  clothes,  and  then  took  him  to  a 
barber  shop,  and  afterward  to  the  hotel.  I  registered 
him  as  my  valet.    I  call  him  Murk.     I  can  prove  by 


78  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

him  that  I  could  not  have  killed  Rufus  Shepley  about 
eleven  o'clock,  because  I  was  in  Murk's  company  at 
that  time." 

"What  time  did  you  get  back  to  vour  hotel  with 
him?" 

"It  was  a  few  minutes  of  midnight.  We  spent 
considerable  time  buying  the  clothes  and  visiting  the 
barber  shop." 

"Um!"  the  captain  said.  "We'll  have  to  question 
a  few  of  these  people.  It  seems  peculiar  to  me  that 
a  millionaire  would  pick  up  a  tramp  and  turn  him 
into  a  trusted  servant." 

"Perhaps  it  was  peculiar.  I  can  read  men,  I  be- 
lieve, and  I  decided  that  Murk  needed  only  a  chance, 
and  he  would  make  good.  He  was  broke  and  friend- 
less, and  I  was  a  millionaire  and  almost  as  friendless. 
That's  the  only  way  I  can  explain  it." 

"I'm  going  to  send  you  to  another  office  under 
guard,  Mr.  Prale,"  the  captain  said.  "I'll  have  these 
people  here  in  a  short  time,  and  we'll  question  them. 
Just  tell  me  where  you  bought  the  clothes  for  this 
man,  and  what  barber  shop  you  visited." 

Sidney  Prale  did  so,  and  the  captain  of  detectives 
made  notes  regarding  the  addresses. 

"That  will  be  all  for  the  present,  Mr.  Prale,"  he 
said.  "I  don't  want  to  cause  any  innocent  man  an- 
noyance, but  I  can  tell  you  this  much — things  look 
very  bad  for  you!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

LIES      AND      LIARS 

SIDNEY  PRALE  waited  in  an  adjoining  office,  a 
detective  sitting  in  one  corner  of  it  and  watching 
him  closely.  It  was  almost  a  prison  room,  for  there 
were  steel  bars  at  the  windows,  and  only  the  one 
door.  Prale  walked  to  one  of  the  windows  and 
looked  down  at  the  street,  his  arms  folded  across  his 
breast,  trying  to  think  it  out. 

The  finding  of  that  fountain  pen  in  the  room  be- 
side Rufus  Shepley's  body  was  what  puzzled  and 
bothered  him  the  most.  How  on  earth  could  it  have 
come  there?  He  tried  to  remember  when  he  had 
used  it  last,  when  he  had  last  seen  it.  All  that  he 
could  recall  was  that,  the  afternoon  before,  he  had 
used  it  to  write  a  note  in  a  memorandum  book.  How 
and  where  had  he  lost  it,  and  how  had  it  come  into 
Shepley's  suite?  Had  he  dropped  it  in  the-  hotel 
lobby  during  his  short  quarrel  with  Shepley,  while  he 
was  shaking  the  man?  Had  Shepley  picked  it  up 
later  and  carried  it  home  with  him?  Prale  did  not 
think  Shepley  would  have  done  that  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. 

Well,  he'd  be  at  liberty  soon  enough,  he  told  him- 
self. It  was  natural  for  the  police  to  learn  of  his 
quarrel  with  Shepley  and  to  make  an  arrest  on  the 
strength  of  that  and  of  finding  the   fountain  pen. 


8o  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

His  alibi  was  perfect;  they  soon  would  know  that  he 
could  not  have  committed  the  crime. 

It  was  almost  an  hour  later  when  he  was  taken 
back  into  the  other  room  again.  Prale  had  spent  the 
time  standing  before  the  window,  smoking  and  try- 
ing to  think  things  out.  The  captain  of  detectives 
was  before  his  desk  when  Prale  was  ushered  into 
the  office. 

"I've  been  investigating  your  story,  Mr.  Prale," 
the  captain  said,  looking  at  him  peculiarly.  "It  al- 
ways has  been  a  mystery  to  me  why  a  man  keen  in 
business  and  supposed  to  possess  brains  goes  to 
pieces  when  he  commits  a  crime  and  tells  a  tale  that 
is  full  of  holes." 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  Prale  said. 

"Sit  down,  Mr.  Prale,  over  there — and  I'll  have 
some  of  the  witnesses  in.  I  have  not  questioned 
them  yet,  but  my  men  have,  and  have  reported  to  me 
what  they  said.  They  have  discovered  several  other 
things,  too." 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  anything  they  may  have  dis- 
covered," Prale  told  the  captain. 

"Last  night,  you  told  Jim  Farland  that  you  had 
had  trouble  with  a  bank,  and  at  the  hotel  where  you 
first  registered  after  you  came  ashore,  did  you  not?" 

"Yes;  don't  those  things  bear  out  my  statement 
about  the  powerful  enemies?" 

"We'll  see  presently,"  the  captain  said. 

He  spoke  to  the  sergeant  in  attendance,  who  im- 
mediately left  the  room,  and  presently  returned  with 
the  president  of  the  trust  company.     He  looked  at 


LIES  AND  LIARS  8l 

Prale  with  interest,  and  took  the  chair  the  captain 
designated. 

"You  know  this  man?"  the  captain  asked. 

"I  do,"  said  the  banker.    "He  is  Sidney  Prale." 

"Ever  have  any  business  with  him?" 

"Mr.  Prale  transferred  a  fortune  to  our  institution 
from  Honduras,"  the  banker  said.  "Yesterday  he 
called  at  the  bank,  satisfied  me  as  to  his  identity,  and 
made  arrangements  concerning  the  money." 

"Mr.  Prale  has  said  that,  for  some  reason  un- 
known to  him,  you  told  him  you  did  not  care  to 
handle  his  business  and  didn't  want  his  deposit," 
the  captain  said. 

"I  scarcely  think  that  was  the  way  of  it,"  the 
banker  replied.  "We  would  have  been  glad  to  take 
care  of  the  deposit,  which  was  practically  one  million 
dollars.  But  Mr.  Prale  told  me  he  had  other  plans 
and  that  he  would  remove  the  deposit  during  the 
day,  which  he  did." 

Sidney  Prale  sat  up  straight  in  his  chair.  "Didn't 
you  tell  me  that  you  didn't  want  anything  to  do  with 
me  and  my  money?"  he  demanded. 

"Certainly  not,"  lied  the  banker.  "You  said  that 
you  wished  to  put  your  funds  in  other  institutions." 

Prale  gasped  at  the  man's  statement.  It  was  a 
bare- faced  lie  if  one  ever  had  been  spoken. 

"Why "  Prale  began. 

"I  do  not  care  to  discuss  the  matter  further,"  the 
banker  interrupted.  "I  am  a  man  of  standing  and 
cannot  afford  to  be  mixed  up  in  a  case  of  this  sort." 

"You'll  not  be  mixed  up  in  it,"  the  captain  said. 


82  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

"I  just  wanted  to  show  Mr.  Prale  that  there  were 
some  holes  in  his  story.     That  is  all,  thank  you!" 

The  banker  left  the  room  quickly,  and  Prale  sprang 
to  his  feet,  his  face  livid. 

"That  man  lied!"  he  exclaimed.  "You  could  read 
it  in  his  face!  I  don't  know  why  he  lied,  but  he 
did!" 

"Sit  down,  Mr.  Prale,  and  let's  have  more  wit- 
nesses in,"  the  captain  said. 

Once  more  he  spoke  to  the  sergeant,  and  again  the 
latter  went  out,  this  time  to  return  with  the  manager 
of  the  first  hotel  at  which  Prale  registered. 

"Know  this  man?"  the  captain  asked. 

"He  registered  at  my  place  as  Sidney  Prale,  of 
Honduras." 

"Well,  what  about  it?" 

"We  furnished  him  with  a  suite  on  the  fifth  floor," 
the  hotel  manager  said.     "But  he  gave  it  up." 

"Gave  it  up!"  Prale  cried.  "Why,  you  called  me 
into  your  office  and  told  me  to  get  out,  that  the  suite 
has  been  reserved  and  that  there  was  none  vacant  in 
the  house.  The  bell  boy  can  testify  that  he  called  me 
into  the  office." 

"Certainly  he  called  you  into  my  office,  and  at  my 
request,"  the  manager  said.  "I  wanted  to  know  why 
you  were  leaving,  whether  any  of  the  employees  had 
treated  you  with  discourtesy.  You  told  me  that  you 
had  been  served  poorly  in  the  dining  room  the  eve- 
ning before,  and  that  you  were  done  with  the  hotel!" 

Prale  sprang  to  his  feet.  "That's  a  lie,  and  you 
know  it!"  he  cried. 

"Captain,"  said  the  hotel  man,  "do  I  have  to  sit 


LIES  AND  LIARS  83 

here  and  be  insulted  by  a  man  charged  with  a  heinous 
crime  ?" 

"That  will  be  all,  thank  you,"  the  captain  said. 

The  hotel  manager  hurried  from  the  room,  and 
the  captain  grinned  at  Prale. 

"So  he  lied,  too,  did  he?"  the  captain  asked. 

"He  did!"  Prale  cried. 

"There  seems  to  be  an  epidemic  of  falsehood,  to 
hear  you  tell  it.  However,  let  us  get  on  with  the 
affair." 

Once  more  he  instructed  the  sergeant,  and  this 
time  the  man  brought  in  the  hotel  detective  who  had 
witnessed  the  trouble  between  Prale  and  Shepley. 

The  hotel  detective  told  the  story  much  as  Praia 
himself  had  told  it,  except  that  he  made  it  appear 
that  Prale  had  threatened  Rufus  Shepley  on  the  walk 
in  front  of  the  hotel  before  they  separated. 

"Did  you  pick  up  a  fountain  pen  of  mine  after  I 
had  gone?"  Prale  asked. 

"I  did  not." 

"See  anybody  else  pick  it  up?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  hotel  detective;  and  he  went 
out  of  the  room. 

The  sergeant  next  ushered  in  George  Lerton. 
Prale  sat  up  straight  in  his  chair  again.  Here  was 
where  his  proper  alibi  began,  with  the  exception  of 
Jim  Farland.  George  Lerton's  face  was  pale  as  he 
sat  down  at  the  end  of  the  desk. 

"Know  this  man?"  the  captain  asked. 

"He  is  my  cousin,  Sidney  Prale." 

"How  long  has  he  been  away  from  New  York?" 

"About  ten  years,"  Lerton  said.    "He  returned  day 


84  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

before  yesterday,  I  believe.  I  saw  his  name  in  the 
passenger  list." 

"Mr.  Prale  says  that  he  met  you  last  night  on 
Fifth  Avenue,  and  that  you  told  him  he  had  some 
powerful  enemies  seeking  to  cause  him  trouble,  and 
advised  him  to  leave  New  York  and  remain  away." 

"Why — why  this  is  not  so!"  Lerton  cried.  "I 
haven't  seen  him  until  this  moment.  I  would  have 
looked  him  up,  but  did  not  know  at  what  hotel  he 
was  stopping,  and  thought  that  he'd  try  to  find  me." 

Prale  was  out  of  his  chair  again,  his  face  flaming. 
"You  mean  to  sit  there  and  tell  me  that  you  didn't 
talk  to  me  on  Fifth  Avenue  last  night?"  he  cried. 

"Why,  of  course  I  never  talked  to  you,  Sid.  I 
never  saw  you.  What  are  you  trying  to  do,  Sid? 
Why  have  you  done  this  thing?  We  never  were 
dose  to  each  other,  and  yet  we  are  cousins,  and  I 
hate  to  see  you  in  trouble.** 

"Stop  your  hypocritical  sniveling!"  Prale  cried. 
"You  are  lying  and  you  know  it!  You  saw  me  last 
night " 

"But  I  didn't!" 

"You  did — and  tried  to  get  me  to  rim  away,  and 
wouldn't  tell  me  your  reason  for  it." 

George  Lerton  licked  at  his  lips  and  looked  appeal- 
ingly  at  the  captain  of  detectives. 

"I — I  am  a  man  of  standing,"  he  whimpered.  "I 
am  a  broker — here  is  my  card.  This  man  is  my 
cousin,  but  I  cannot  lie  to  shield  him.  I  never  saw 
him  last  night,  and  did  not  speak  to  him." 

Lerton  got  up  and  started  for  the  door,  and  Sidney 
Prale  did  not  make  a  move  to  stop  him. 


LIES  AND  LIARS  85 

"It  appears  that  your  story  is  full  of  flaws,"  the 
captain  said.  "A  little  of  it  Is  true,  however;  you 
did  meet  Jim  Farland  and  talk  to  him  in  Madison 
Square,  and  remained  for  the  length  of  time  you  said. 
Jim  has  told  me  that  much.  But  he  does  not  know 
where  you  went  and  what  you  did  after  leaving  him. 
What  we  are  interested  in  is  what  you  did  in  the 
neighborhood  of  eleven  o'clock  last  night.  That  is 
when  Rufus  Shepley  was  killed.  And  now  we'll  have 
in  that  new  valet  of  yours." 

There  was  a  snarl  on  Murk's  face  as  he  came  into 
the  room  and  sat  down  in  the  chair  at  the  end  of  the 
desk.  Murk  did  not  like  policemen  and  detectives,  and 
did  not  care  whether  they  knew  of  his  dislike.  He 
flashed  a  glance  at  Sidney  Prale  and  then  faced  the 
captain. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"Tell  us  where  and  how  you  met  Mr.  Prale  first, 
what  happened,  and  bring  the  story  right  up  to  date," 
the  captain  commanded. 

"Well,  I  went  down  to  the  river  to  jump  In," 
Murk  said,  as  if  stating  a  simple  fact.  "I  was  tired 
of  fightin'  to  live  and  had  decided  to  end  it  all.  Mr. 
Prale  grabbed  me  and  hauled  me  back,  and  then  he 
made  me  see  that  suicide  was  foolish.  He  offered 
me  a  job,  and  I  agreed  to  take  it.  He  was  the  first 
man  who  had  treated  me  decent  since  I " 

"Never  mind  that;  get  down  to  cases." 

"Well,  we  walked  up  the  street  and  got  a  taxicab 
and  drove  downtown,  and  Mr.  Prale  bought  me  some 
clothes." 

"What  time  was  It  when  you  met  him?" 


86  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

"I  guess  it  was  about  ten  o'clock.  We  bought  the 
clothes,  as  I  said,  and  then  we  went  to  a  barber  shop, 
and  I  got  a  hair  cut  and  a  shave.  After  that  we 
went  to  Mr.  Prale's  hotel  and  up  to  his  rooms.  We 
got  to  bed  pretty  quick." 

*'What  time  did  you  reach  the  hotel?" 

"About  midnight." 

"What  happened  after  you  went  to  bed?" 

"Went  to  sleep,"  said  Murk. 

"Never  mind  the  jokes,"  the  captain  rebuked 
sternly. 

"Well,  I  stayed  awake  about  an  hour  or  so  think- 
ing how  lucky  I  was,  and  then  I  went  to  sleep.  I 
woke  up  early  in  the  mornin'  and  got  up  and  dressed. 
Mr.  Prale  got  up  later,  and  we  ate  breakfast  in  the 
suite.  Then  the  cops  came.  One  of  them  took  Mr. 
Prale  away,  and  he  told  me  to  stay  in  the  rooms  until 
sent  for.  The  other  cop  rummaged  around  the  rooms 
and  then  left." 

Prale  bent  forward.  "There  is  one  man  who  can 
speak  the  truth,"  he  told  the  captain.  "His  story 
corresponds  with  the  one  I  told  you,  doesn't  it?  And 
doesn't  it  show  that  I  could  not  have  murdered  Rufus 
Shepley  at  eleven  o'clock  last  night?" 

"The  story  is  all  right,  and  it  certainly  corresponds 
with  yours,"  replied  the  captain.  "Just  a  minute!" 
He  faced  Murk  again.  "Who  are  you  and  where 
did  you  come  from?"  he  demanded. 

"I  ain't  anybody  in  particular.  I've  been  hangin' 
around  town  a  couple  of  months  doin'  odd  jobs. 
Before  that  I  was  bummin'  around  the  country  work- 
in'  whenever  I  got  a  chance." 


LIES  AND  LIARS  87 

"You  felt  grateful  to  Mr.  Prale  for  giving  you  a 
job  and  a  home,  didn't  you?" 

"Sure !"  said  Murk.  "He  talked  to  me  decent,  like 
I  was  a  man  instead  of  a  dog." 

"Well,  you  don't  seem  to  have  much"  standing  in 
the  world,"  the  captain  said.  "Your  word,  against 
that  of  several  prominent  citizens,  does  not  carry 
much  weight.  You  must  see  that.  And  there  hap- 
pens to  be  something  else,  too.  I  had  the  clothing 
merchant  and  the  barber  you  mentioned  look  you 
over  while  you  were  in  the  other  room.  The  clothing 
merchant  says  he  sold  some  clothes  a  couple  of  days 
ago,  the  ones  you  are  wearing  now,  but  that  he  cer- 
tainly did  not  sell  them  last  night,  and  the  barber 
swears  that  he  never  saw  you  before!" 

"Why,  the  dirty  liars!"  Murk  cried. 

"Did  they  say  that?"  Prale  demanded. 

"They  did,"  the  captain  replied.  "And  they  said 
it  in  such  a  way  that  I  believe  them.  Prale,  your 
alibi  is  shot  full  of  holes.  You  told  the  truth  about 
meeting  Jim  Farland,  and  that  much  is  in  your  favor. 
Aside  from  that,  we  have  only  the  testimony  of  a 
tramp  you  said  you  picked  up  and  gave  a  job.  You 
had  plenty  of  time  to  kill  Rufus  Shepley.  You  had 
ample  time  to  concoct  the  story  and  get  this  man  to 
learn  it,  so  he  could  tell  it  and  match  yours.  You 
are  worth  a  million  dollars,  and  this  man  probably 
was  ready  to  lie  a  little  for  a  wad  of  money." 

"He  tells  the  truth " 

"It's  too  thin,  Prale!  And  don't  forget  the  foun- 
tain pen  that  was  found  beside  Shepley's  body,  either! 


88  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

As  for  you  Murk,  or  whatever  your  right  name  is, 
you  are  under  suspicion  yourself." 

"What's  that?"  Murk  snarled. 

"You  are  under  suspicion,  I  said.  You  might  have 
assisted  at  the  murder,  for  all  I  know.  I  don't  know 
when  you  met  Mr.  Prale,  or  where,  but  I  do  know 
that  you  got  back  to  the  hotel  with  Mr.  Prale  about 
midnight — an  hour  after  the  crime  was  committed." 

"You  can't  hang  anything  like  that  on  me!"  Murk 
snarled.  "All  the  cops  in  the  world  can't  do  it!  I 
met  Mr.  Prale  just  like  I  said,  and  he  bought  me  the 
clothes  and  took  me  to  the  barber  shop,  no  matter 
what  the  store  man  and  the  barber  say!  It's  a  black 
lie  they're  tellin' !     Mr.  Prale  is  a  gentleman " 

"That'll  be  enough!"  the  captain  exclaimed.  "I'm 
going  to  allow  you  to  go,  Murk,  but  you  are  to  remain 
in  Mr.  Prale's  rooms  and  take  care  of  his  things. 
And  you  can  bet  that  you'll  be  watched,  too." 

"I  don't  care  who  watches  me !" 

"As  for  you,  Mr.  Prale,  you'll  have  to  go  to  a 
cell,  I  think.  The  evidence  against  you  is  such  that 
I  cannot  turn  you  loose.  You  must  realize  that 
yourself." 

Prale  realized  it.  His  face  was  white  and  his 
hands  were  shaking.  He  looked  across  the  room  at 
Murk. 

"You  go  back  to  the  hotel.  Murk,  and  do  as  the 
captain  says,"  he  ordered.  "I'll  come  out  of  this  all 
right  in  time.  There  are  a  lot  of  things  I  cannot 
understand,  but  we'll  solve  the  puzzle  before  we're 
done." 

"Ain't  there  anything  I  can  do,  sir?"  Murk  asked. 


LIES  AND  LIARS  89 

"Perhaps,  later.  I'll  engage  a  detective  and  a 
lawyer,  and  they  may  visit  you  at  the  hotel.  I'll  send 
you  money  by  the  lawyer.    That's  all  now,  Murk." 

Murk  started  to  speak,  then  thought  better  of  it 
and  went  from  the  room  slowly,  anger  flushing  his 
face.  Sidney  Prale  faced  the  captain  of  detectives 
again. 

"No  matter  what  you  think,  I  am  innocent,  and 
know  that  my  innocence  can  be  proved,"  Prale  said. 
"You  are  only  doing  your  duty,  of  course.  I  want 
Jim  Farland  to  attend  to  things  for  me.  He  is  an 
old  friend  of  mine  and  he  is  an  honest  man.  Will 
you  send  for  him?" 

"He's  waiting  in  the  other  room  now,"  the  captain 
said.  "I'll  let  you  have  a  conference  with  him  before 
I  order  you  into  a  cell!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

PUZZLED 

ONCE  more  Prale  was  taken  to  the  room  in  which 
he  had  first  waited — the  room  with  the  barred 
windows.  This  time  the  watching  detective  was  miss- 
ing. When  Jim  Farland  entered,  he  found  Prale 
pacing  back  and  forth  from  one  corner  to  the  other. 
He  was  trying  to  think  out  his  problem,  wondering 
what  it  all  meant,  why  the  witnesses  had  lied,  and 
what  would  be  the  outcome. 

Farland  rushed  into  the  room,  grasped  Prale  by 
the  hand,  led  him  across  from  the  door,  and  forced 
him  into  a  chair.  This  done,  the  loyal  detective  sat 
down  facing  him. 

"Now  let  us  have  it  from  beginning  to  end!" 
Farland  commanded.  "I  don't  want  you  to  leave  out 
a  thing.  I  want  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  this  as  soon 
as  possible." 

Sidney  Prale  started  at  the  beginning  and  talked 
rapidly,  setting  forth  all  the  facts,  while  Jim  Far- 
land  sat  back  in  his  chair  and  watched  him.  Now 
and  then  he  frowned  as  if  displeased  at  the  recital. 

"Well,  there  is  something  rotten,"  he  said,  when 
Prale  had  concluded  his  statement.  "I  want  you  to 
know,  Sid,  that  I  believe  you.  You're  not  the  sort 
of  man  to  kill  a  fellow  like  Rufus  Shepley  over  a 


PUZZLED  91 

little  spat.  I  believe  your  story  about  this  Murk,  too. 
But  why  should  everybody  have  it  in  for  you?" 

"I  haven't  the  slightest  idea,"  Prale  answered.  "I 
must,  indeed,  have  some  powerful  enemies,  but  I 
cannot  imagine  who  they  are,  and  I  know  of  no  rea- 
son why  they  should  be  against  me,  I'm  simply  up 
in  the  air," 

"You  keep  right  on  trying  to  figure  it  out,"  Far- 
land  advised  him,  "You  might  think  of  something 
in  time  that  will  give  me  a  start  in  my  work." 

"Why  did  the  banker  and  hotel  manager  lie?" 
Prale  asked.  "Why  did  the  clothing-store  man  and 
the  barber  lie?  Why  did  George  Lerton  declare  that 
he  did  not  see  me  and  speak  to  me  last  night?  And 
how  did  my  fountain  pen  get  into  Shepley's  room?" 

"Huh!  When  we  know  a  few  of  those  things, 
we'll  know  enough  to  wipe  this  charge  away  from 
your  name,"  Jim  Farland  told  him.  "It's  my  job  to 
answer  those  little  questions  for  you.  And  now — 
you  want  a  lawyer,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes.     Can  you  suggest  one?" 

"The  greatest  criminal  lawyer  in  town  is  named 
Coadley,  I'll  send  him  right  up  here  after  I  explain 
about  this  case  to  him.  Thank  Heaven,  you  have 
plenty  of  money!  A  poor  man  in  a  fix  like  this  would 
be  on  his  way  to  the  electric  chair,  Coadley  can  fix 
you  up,  if  anybody  can.  He  can  make  a  sinner  look 
like  a  saint," 

"But  I'm  not  guilty!" 

"I  understand  that,  Sid,  but  it  doesn't  hurt  an 
innocent  man  to  have  the  best  attorney  he  can  get. 
I'll  send  you  Coadley.    Give  me  a  note  to  that  fellow 


92  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

Murk,  for  I  may  want  him  to  help  me.     Sure  he's 
loyal  to  you?" 

"I  never  saw  him  until  last  night,  but  I'd  bank  on 
him,"  said  Prale.     "He'll  stand  by  us !" 

"Fair  enough!  You  write  that  note  right  now, 
and  try  to  get  out  on  bail.  Tell  Coadley  to  get  busy 
on  that  right  away.  Get  out  under  police  supervision, 
under  guard — any  way — but  get  out!" 

Jim  Farland  hurried  away,  and  Sidney  Prale  was 
conducted  through  dark  corridors  to  a  cell,  where  he 
had  the  experience  of  hearing  a  door  clang  shut  be- 
hind him  and  the  bolts  shot.  Prale  never  had  ex- 
pected to  get  into  jail  when  he  was  worth  a  million 
dollars,  and  most  certainly  he  never  had  expected  to 
face  a  charge  of  murder. 

He  was  allowed  to  send  out  for  some  luncheon, 
and  it  was  more  than  an  hour  before  Coadley,  the 
attorney,  arrived.  Prale  was  taken  into  the  consulta- 
tion room. 

He  liked  Coadley,  and  he  liked  the  way  in  which 
Coadley  regarded  him  before  he  spoke. 

"T  believe  that  you  are  innocent,"  the  lawyer  said. 

"The  job  will  be  to  make  other  people  think  that 
way,"  Prale  said,  with  a  laugh.  The  attorney's 
words  had  been  like  a  ray  of  hope  to  him.  "Did 
Jim  Farland  tell  you  the  story?" 

"Yes.  I'll  try  to  get  you  out  on  bail,  or  get  you 
out  in  some  manner,"  Coadley  said.  "This  appears 
to  be  a  peculiar  case.  It  is  not  only  the  charge  of 
murder;  it  is  the  fact  that  several  men  told  falsehoods 
about  you.  You  haven't  an  idea  who  your  enemies 
are?" 


PUZZLED  93 

"Not  the  slightest." 

"I'm  glad  that  Jim  Farland  is  working  on  this 
case  for  you,  Mr.  Prale.  He  is  a  good  man,  and  I 
may  need  a  lot  of  help.  I'll  get  my  own  investigators 
busy  right  away,  too,  and  we'll  cooperate  with  Jim 
Farland.  You  go  back  to  your  cell  and  take  it  easy. 
I'll  get  you  out  before  night,  if  I  can." 

Lawyer  Coadley  was  a  shrewd  man,  and  his 
methods  were  the  delight  of  other  attorneys  and 
jurists.  He  lost  no  time  when  he  was  confronted 
with  a  case  that  held  unusual  interest.  Within  an 
hour  he  was  in  court,  acting  as  if  fighting  mad. 

Had  a  reputable  citizen  any  rights,  he  demanded? 
Were  the  police  to  be  allowed  to  throw  an  innocent 
man  into  jail  simply  because  there  had  been  a  crime 
committed  and  somebody  had  to  be  accused?  His 
client  did  not  care  for  an  examination  at  this  time,  he 
said.  Arraignment  and  a  plea  of  not  guilty  were  all 
right,  however. 

Sidney  Prale  was  arraigned,  and  the  plea  of  not 
guilty  was  made  and  entered.  Then  Coadley  began 
his  fight  to  have  Prale  admitted  to  bail. 

The  district  attorney  opposed  it,  of  course,  since 
that  was  his  business.  The  judge  listened  to  the 
statement  of  the  captain  of  detectives.  He  heard 
Coadley  say  that  his  client  could  put  up  cash  bail  in 
any  amount,  and  was  willing  to  abide  by  any  pro- 
visions. Finally  the  judge  freed  Prale  on  cash  bail  of 
fifty  thousand  dollars,  but  designated  that  the  bail 
could  be  recalled  at  any  time,  and  that  he  was  to  be 
in  the  custody  of  a  member  of  the  police  department 
continually. 


94  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

Coadley  agreed,  and  left  the  jail  with  his  client,  a 
detective  going  with  them  to  stand  guard.  The  de- 
tective had  explicit  orders.  He  was  not  to  annoy 
Sidney  Prale,  He  was  to  withdraw  out  of  earshot 
when  Prale  talked  with  his  attorney  or  anybody  else 
with  whom  he  wished  to  converse  privately.  He  was 
to  allow  Prale  to  come  and  go  as  he  wished,  except 
that  Prale  was  not  to  be  allowed  to  leave  the  limits  of 
the  city.  If  he  attempted  that,  he  was  to  be  put  un- 
der arrest  immediately  and  taken  to  the  nearest  police 
station. 

Prale  read  the  newspapers  as  he  rode  to  the  hotel 
with  Coadley  and  the  detective.  The  story  of  the 
crime  was  in  all  of  them,  the  tale  of  his  quarrel  with 
Rufus  Shepley  and  of  the  finding  of  the  fountain 
pen,  and  the  inevitable  statement  that  the  police  were 
on  the  track  of  more  and  better  evidence. 

Prale  expected  to  be  ordered  out  of  the  hotel,  but 
he  was  not,  the  management  stipulating  only  that  he 
should  not  use  the  public  dining  room.  He  went  up 
to  the  suite,  to  find  Murk  there,  sitting  in  front  of  a 
window  and  glaring  down  at  the  street. 

A  cot  was  moved  in  for  the  use  of  the  detective. 
Coadley  held  another  conference  with  Prale,  and  then 
left  to  get  busy  on  the  case.  Murk  regarded  the  de- 
tective with  scorn,  until  Prale  explained  the  situation 
to  him.  After  that,  there  was  a  sort  of  armed  neu- 
trality between  them.  Murk  had  no  special  liking  for 
detectives,  and  he  was  the  sort  of  man  detectives  do 
not  like. 

Presently  Jim  Farland  arrived. 

"Well,  Sid,  Coadley  got  you  out  of  jail  and  home 


PUZZLED  95 

before  I  could  get  here,  did  he?"  Farland  said.  "I 
suppose  I'll  not  need  that  note  of  yours  now.  Is  this 
Mr.  Murk?" 

"It  is,"  Prale  said.  *'Murk,  meet  Jim  Farland. 
He's  a  detective  friend  of  mine." 

"Gosh,  Mr.  Prale,  ain't  there  anybody  but  cops  in 
this  town?"  Murk  asked. 

"Jim  is  a  private  cop,  and  he  has  a  job  now  to  get 
me  out  of  this  scrape,"  said  Prale.  "He's  a  friend  of 
mine,  I  said." 

"I  guess  that  makes  it  different,"  was  Murk's  only 
comment. 

"Oh,  we'll  get  along  all  right,"  Farland  put  in. 
"I'm  going  to  need  you  in  my  business.  Murk.  I've 
told  the  folks  at  police  headquarters  that  I'd  be  re- 
sponsible for  you,  so  we  can  work  together  without 
being  pestered.     Understand?" 

Murk  grinned  at  him.  "You  just  show  me  how 
to  help  get  Mr.  Prale  out  of  this  mess,  and  I'll  sure 
help,"  he  said. 

Farland  turned  toward  the  police  detective.  "Go 
out  into  the  hall  and  take  a  walk,"  he  suggested. 
"Mr,  Prale  will  give  you  a  couple  of  cigars," 

The  detective  took  the  cigars  and  went  out  into  the 
hall,  smiling.  He  had  no  fear  of  Sidney  Prale  slip- 
ping down  a  fire  escape,  or  anything  like  that.  Jim 
Farland  was  responsible,  and  Jim  Farland  was  known 
to  the  force  as  a  man  who  felt  his  responsibilities, 

"Now  we'll  get  busy  and  dig  to  the  bottom  of  this 
mess,"  Farland  said,  "Been  thinking  it  over,  Sid? 
Know  any  reason  why  anybody  should  be  out  after 
you?" 


96  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

"I  can't  think  of  a  thing,"  Prale  replied.  "I  sup- 
pose I  made  a  few  business  enemies  down  in  Hon- 
duras, but  none  powerful  enough  to  cause  me  all  this 
trouble.  I  can't  understand  it,  Jim.  It  must  be 
something  big  to  cause  all  those  men  to  lie  as  they 
did." 

"Maybe  it  is,  and  maybe  it  is  very  simple  when  we 
get  right  down  to  it,"  Farland  said.  "I've  started 
right  in  to  work  it  out.  Let  me  see  those  notes  and 
messages  you  received." 

Prale  got  them  from  the  dresser  drawer  and 
handed  them  to  Farland.  The  detective  looked  them 
over,  even  going  as  far  as  to  use  a  magnifying  glass. 

"Don't  laugh!"  Farland  said.  "A  lot  of  folks 
make  fun  of  the  fiction  detective  who  goes  around 
with  a  magnifying  glass  in  one  hand,  but,  believe  me, 
a  good  glass  shows  up  a  lot  of  things.  It  isn't  show- 
ing up  anything  here,  though.  Where  do  you  sup- 
pose these  things  came  from?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Prale. 

"Got  the  first  one  on  the  ship,  did  you?" 

"The  first  two.  One  was  pinned  to  the  pillow  in 
my  stateroom,  and  the  second  was  pasted  on  the  end 
of  my  suit  case  as  I  was  landing.  The  mucilage  was 
still  wet." 

"Didn't  suspect  anybody?" 

"I  didn't  think  much  about  it  at  first,"  said  Prale. 
"I  thought  it  was  a  joke,  or  that  somebody  was  mak- 
ing a  mistake." 

"Sid,  have  you  told  me  everything?" 

Prale  remembered  Kate  Gilbert  and  flushed. 

"I  see  that  you  haven't,"  Farland  said.    "Out  with 


PUZZLED  97 

it!  Some  little  thing  may  give  me  the  start  I  am 
looking  for." 

Praia  told  about  Kate  Gilbert,  about  the  piece  of 
paper  she  had  dropped  as  she  got  into  the  limousine, 
about  the  peculiar  way  she  acted  toward  him,  and 
the  attitude  of  Marie,  the  misnamed  maid. 

"Um!"  Farland  grunted.  "We  had  one  thing  lack- 
ing in  this  case — and  we  have  that.     The  woman!" 

"But  I  only  met  her  down  there  and  danced  with 
her  twice." 

"Don't  know  anything  about  her,  I  suppose?" 

"Not  a  thing.  It  was  understood  that  she  belonged 
to  a  wealthy  New  York  family  and  was  traveling  for 
the  benefit  of  her  health.  At  least,  that  was  the 
rumor." 

"I  know  of  a  lot  of  wealthy  families  in  this  town, 
but  I  never  heard  of  a  Kate  Gilbert,"  Farland  said. 
"I  think  I'll  make  a  little  investigation." 

"But  why  on  earth  should  she  be  taking  a  hand  in 
my  affairs  ?"  Prale  wanted  to  know. 

"Why  should  you  be  accused  of  murder?  Why 
should  men  tell  lies  about  you?"  Farland  asked. 
"Excuse  me  for  a  time;  I'm  going  down  to  the  hotel 
office  to  find  out  a  few  things." 

Farland  hurried  away,  and  the  police  detective  en- 
tered the  suite  again  and  made  himself  comfortable. 
Jim  Farland  went  directly  to  the  office  of  the  hotel 
and  looked  at  a  city  directory.  He  found  no  Kate 
Gilbert  listed,  except  a  seamstress  who  resided  in 
Brooklyn.  The  telephone  directory  gave  him  no 
help. 

But  that  was  not  conclusive,  of  course.     A  thou- 


98  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

sand  Kate  Gilberts  might  be  living  in  New  York,  in 
apartments  or  at  hotels,  without  having  a  private 
telephone. 

"Have  to  get  a  line  on  that  girl!"  Farland  told 
himself.  "She's  got  something  to  do  with  this.  I'll 
bet  my  reputation  on  it." 

Jim  Farland  went  to  the  smoking  room  and  sat 
down  in  a  corner.  He  tried  to  think  it  out,  groped 
for  a  starting  point.  He  considered  all  the  persons 
connected  with  the  case,  one  at  a  time. 

Farland  knew  that  Sidney  Prale  had  told  the 
truth.  Why,  then,  had  George  Lerton  told  a  false- 
hood about  meeting  Prale  and  talking  to  him,  when 
the  truth  would  have  helped  to  establish  an  alibi? 
Why  had  the  clothing  merchant  and  the  barber  lied? 

"I  suppose  I'll  have  to  use  stern  methods,"  Far- 
land  told  himself.  "Old  police  stuff,  I  suppose. 
Well,  I'm  the  man  that  can  do  it,  take  it  from  me!" 

He  went  up  to  Prale's  suite  again. 

"Can't  find  out  anything  about  that  woman,"  he 
reported.  "And  I  want  to  get  in  touch  with  her. 
Keep  your  eyes  peeled  for  her,  Sid,  and  arrange  for 
me  to  catch  sight  of  her,  if  you  can.  Now  you'd 
better  take  a  little  rest.  You've  been  through  an  ex- 
perience to-day.  I'm  going  out  to  get  busy,  and  I'm 
going  to  take  Murk  with  me." 

"What  for?"  Murk  demanded. 

"You're  going  to  help  me,  old  boy." 

"Me  work  with  a  cop?"  Murk  exclaimed. 

"To  help  Mr.  Prale." 

"Well,  that's  different,"  Murk  said.  "Wait  until 
I  get  my  hat." 


CHAPTER  X 

ON      THE      TRAIL 

FARLAND  engaged  a  taxicab,  bade  Murk  get  into 
it,  got  in  himself,  and  they  started  downtown. 
The  detective  leaned  back  against  the  cushions  and 
regarded  Murk  closely.  He  knew  that  Sidney  Prale 
had  guessed  correctly,  that  Murk  was  the  sort  of 
man  who  would  prove  loyal  to  a  friend. 

"This  is  a  bad  business,"  Farland  said. 

"It's  tough,"  said  Murk. 

"H  it  was  anybody  but  Sid  Prale,  I'd  say  he  was 
guilty.  It  sure  looks  bad.  And  there  is  that  foun- 
tain pen!" 

"Somebody's  tryin'  to  do  him  dirt,"  Murk  said. 

"There's  no  question  about  that.  Murk,  old  boy. 
Well,  we  are  going  to  get  him  out  of  it,  aren't  we?" 

"I'll  do  anything  I  can." 

"Like  him,  do  you?" 

"Met  him  less  than  twenty-four  hours  ago,  but  I 
wish  I'd  met  him  or  somebody  like  him  ten  years 
ago,"  Murk  replied.  "If  it  hadn't  been  for  Mr. 
Prale,  I'd  be  a  stiff  up  in  the  morgue  this  minute.'* 

"Strong  for  him,  are  you?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  am!" 

"Um!"  said  Jim  Farland.  "We're  going  to  get 
along  fine  together.  I  was  strong  for  Sid  Prale  ten 
years  ago,  before  he  went  away.     And  I'll  bet  that, 


100  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

when  we  get  to  the  bottom  of  this,  we'll  find  some- 
thing mighty  interesting." 

The  taxicab  stopped  at  a  corner,  and  Farland  and 
Murk  got  out.  Farland  paid  the  chauffeur  and 
watched  him  drive  away,  and  then  he  led  Murk 
around  the  corner. 

"Know  where  you  are?"  he  asked. 

"Sure.  Right  over  there  is  the  little  shop  where 
Mr.  Prale  bought  me  my  new  clothes,"  Murk  said. 

"Fine!  That  goes  to  show  that  Prale  told  the 
truth.  Well,  Murk,  you  stand  right  here  by  the 
curb  and  watch  the  front  door  of  that  shop.  And 
when  you  see  me  beckon  to  you,  you  come  running." 

"Yes,  sir." 

Jim  Farland  hurried  across  the  street,  opened  the 
door  of  the  little  shop,  and  entered.  The  proprietor 
came  from  the  rear  room  when  he  heard  the  door 
slammed. 

He  knew  Jim  Farland  and  had  known  him  for 
years.  There  were  few  old-timers  in  that  section  of 
the  city  who  did  not  know  Jim  Farland,  The  man 
who  faced  the  detective  now  was  small,  stoop- 
shouldered,  a  sort  of  a  rat  of  a  man  who  had  con- 
siderably more  money  to  his  credit  than  his  appear- 
ance indicated,  and  who  was  not  eager  to  have  the 
world  in  general  know  how  he  had  acquired  some 
of  it. 

"Evenin*,  Mr.  Farland,"  he  said.  "Anything  I  can 
do  for  you,  sir?" 

"Maybe  you  can  and  maybe  you  can't,"  Farland 
told  him.     "You  been  behaving  yourself  lately?" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Farland?    I've  been  try- 


ON  THE  TRAIL  loi 

ing  to  get  along,  but  business  ain't  been  any  too  good 
the  last  year." 

"Save  that  song  for  somebody  who  doesn't  know 
better!"  Farland  advised  him.  "Change  the  record 
when  you  play  me  a  tune." 

"Yes,  sir.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you, 
Mr.  Farland?" 

"Remember  a  little  deal  a  couple  of  years  ago?** 
Farland  demanded  suddenly. 

"I— I " 

"I  see  that  you  do.  One  little  word  from  me  in 
the  proper  quarter,  old  man,  and  you'll  be  doing 
time.  You've  sailed  pretty  close  to  the  edge  of  the 
law  a  lot  of  times,  and  once,  I  know,  you  slipped  over 
the  edge  a  bit." 

"I— I  hope,  sir " 

"You'd  better  hope  that  you  can  keep  on  the  good 
side  of  me,"  Jim  Farland  told  him. 

"If  there  is  anything  I  can  do,  Mr.  Farland " 

"Do  you  suppose  you  could  tell  the  truth?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"I'm  going  to  give  you  a  chance.  If  you  tell  the 
truth,  I  may  forget  something  I  know,  for  the  time 
being.  But,  if  you  shouldn't  tell  the  truth — well,  my 
memory  is  excellent  when  I  want  to  exercise  it." 

Farland  stepped  to  the  door  and  beckoned,  and 
Murk  hurried  across  the  street  and  entered  the  shop. 

"Ever  see  this  man  before?"  Farland  demanded. 

The  storekeeper  licked  his  lips,  and  a  sudden  gleam 
came  into  his  eyes. 

"I — ^he  seems  to  look  familiar,  but  I  can't  say." 

"You'd  better  say!"  Farland  exclaimed.     "I  want 


I02  THE  BRA.ND  OF  SILENCE 

the  truth  out  of  you,  or  something  will  drop.  And 
when  it  drops,  it  is  liable  to  hit  you  on  the  toes. 
Get  me?" 

"I — I  don't  know  what  to  do,"  wailed  the  mer- 
chant. 

*Tell  the  truth!" 

"But — there  is  something  peculiar  about " 

"Out  with  it!     Know  this  man?" 

"I've  seen  him  before,"  the  merchant  replied. 

"When?" 

"La-last  night,  sir." 

"Now  we  are  getting  at  it!"  Jim  Farland  ex- 
claimed. "When  did  you  see  him  last  night,  and 
where,  and  what  happened?" 

"He  was  in  the  store,  Mr.  Farland,  about  half  past 
ten  or  a  quarter  of  eleven  o'clock.  He — he  bought 
those  clothes  he's  got  on." 

"Pay  for  them?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Who  paid  for  them?"  Farland  demanded. 

"A  gentleman  who  was  with  ftim,"  said  the  mer- 
chant. 

"Ah!     Know  the  gentleman?" 

"I  saw  him  to-day — at  police  headquarters." 

"Ahd  you  said  that  you  never  had  seen  him  before 
— that  he  was  not  here  last  night  with  this  man. 
Why  did  you  lie?" 

Jim  Farland  roared  the  question  and  smashed  a 
fist  down  upon  the  counter.  The  little  merchant 
flinched. 

"Out  with  it!"  Farland  cried.  "Tell  the  truth, 
you  little  crook!    I  want  to  know  why  you  lied,  who 


ON  THE  TRAIL  103 

told  you  to  lie.  I  want  to  know  all  about  it,  and 
mighty  quick!" 

"I — I  don't  understand  this,"  the  merchant  whim- 
pered.    "I  was  afraid  of  making  a  mistake." 

"You'll  make  a  mistake  right  now  if  you  don't  tell 
the  truth!"  Jim  Farland  told  him. 

"I — I  got  a  letter,  sir,  by  messenger.  I  got  it  early 
this  morning,  sir." 

"Well,  what  about  it?" 

"The  letter  was  typewritten,  sir,  and  was  not 
signed.  There  was  a  thousand  dollars  in  bills  in  the 
letter,  sir,  and  it  said  that  a  Mr.  Prale  had  just  been 
arrested  for  murder,  and  that  he  probably  would  try 
to  make  an  alibi  by  saying  that  he  was  here  last  night 
and  bought  some  clothes  for  another  man.  The  let- 
ter said  that  I  was  to  take  the  money  and  ask  no 
questions,  and  that,  if  I  was  called  to  police  head- 
quarters, I  was  to  say  the  man  had  not  been  here  and 
that  I  never  had  seen  him  in  my  life  before." 

"And  you  fell  for  it?  You  wanted  that  thousand, 
I  suppose." 

"I'll  show  you  the  letter,  Mr.  Farland.  There  was 
no  signature  at  all,  and  the  paper  was  just  common 
paper.     I — I  thought  it  was  politics,  sir." 

"You  did,  eh?" 

"Thought  it  had  something  to  do  with  politics, 
sir.  I  thought  the  letter  and  money  might  have  come 
from  political  headquarters.  I  was  afraid  to  tell  the 
truth  at  the  police  station." 

"You  mean  you  have  been  so  crooked  for  years 
that  you're  afraid  of  everybody  who  has  a  little  in- 
fluence," Farland  told  him. 


I04  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

"I  thought  it  was  orders,  sir,  from  somebody  who 
had  better  be  obeyed." 

"Oh,  I  understand,  all  right.  Well,  I  scarcely 
think  it  was  politics.  You've  been  played,  that's  all. 
Get  me  that  letter !" 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  merchant  got  it  and  handed  it  over,  together 
with  the  envelope.  He  had  told  the  truth.  The  let- 
ter was  typewritten  on  an  ordinary  piece  of  paper, 
and  the  envelope  was  of  the  sort  anybody  could  pur- 
chase at  a  corner  drug  store.  Farland  put  the  letter 
in  his  pocket. 

"Here  between  ten  thirty  and  a  quarter  of  eleven, 
was  he?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  merchant. 

"All  right!  You  remember  that,  and  don't  change 
your  mind  again,  if  you  know  what  is  good  for  you. 
You'll  hear  from  me  in  the  morning.     That's  all!" 

Jim  Farland  went  from  the  store  with  a  grinning 
Murk  at  his  heels,  leaving  a  badly  frightened  small 
merchant  behind  him. 

"I  know  that  bird,"  he  told  Murk.  "He's  a  fence, 
or  I  miss  my  guess.  It's  no  job  at  all  to  run  a  bluff 
on  a  small-time  crook  like  that.  And  now  we'll  run 
down  and  see  that  barber." 

They  engaged  another  taxicab  and  made  a  trip. 
Once  more  Murk  remained  outside,  and  Jim  Farland 
entered  and  beckoned  the  barber  to  him. 

"Step  outside  the  door  where  nobody  will  over- 
hear," he  said.     "I  want  to  ask  you  something." 

The  barber  stepped  outside,  wondering  what  was 


ON  THE  TRAIL  105 

coming.  This  man  knew  Jim  Farland,  too,  and  he 
knew  that  a  call  from  him  might  mean  trouble. 

"Trying  to  see  how  far  you  can  go  and  keep  out 
of  jail?"  Farland  demanded. 

*T — I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  sir." 

"Trying  to  run  a  bluff  on  me?  On  me?"  Farland 
gasped.  "You'd  better  talk  straight.  Do  you  expect 
to  run  a  barber  shop  by  day  and  a  gambling  joint  by 
night  all  your  life?" 

"Why,  I " 

"Don't  lie!"  Farland  interrupted.  "I  know  all 
about  that  little  back  room.  Maybe  I'm  not  on  the 
city  police  force  now,  but  you  know  me!  I've  got  a 
bunch  of  friends  on  the  force,  and  if  I  told  a  certain 
sergeant  about  your  little  game  and  said  that  I 
wanted  to  have  you  run  in  he  wouldn't  hesitate  a 
minute." 

"But  what  have  I  done,  Mr.  Farland?"  the  barber 
gasped.     "I've  always  been  friendly  to  you." 

"I  know  it.  But  are  you  going  to  keep  right  on 
being  friendly?" 

"Of  course,  sir." 

"Willing  to  help  me  out  in  a  little  matter  if  I 
forget  about  that  gambling?" 

"I'll   do   the  best   I  can,   Mr.   Farland." 

"Then  answer  a  few  questions.  Did  you  get  a 
t3^ewritten  letter  this  morning,  with  a  wad  of 
money  in  it?" 

The  barber's   face  turned  white. 

"Answer  me!"  Farland  commanded. 

"Yes,   I — I  got  such  a  letter  and  I  don't  know 


io6  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

what  to  make  of  it,"  the  barber  said.  "I've  got 
the  letter  and  money  in  my  desk  right  now.  There 
wasn't  any  signature,  and  I  didn't  know  where  the 
letter  came   from,   or  what  it  meant." 

"Then  why  did  you  do  what  the  letter  told  you 
to  do?"  Farland  asked. 

"I — I    don't   understand." 

Farland  motioned,  and  Murk  now  stepped  around 
the  corner. 

"Know  this  man?"  Farland  demanded. 

*T — I've  seen  him  before.'* 

"That  letter  told  you  to  go  to  police  headquarters, 
if  requested  to  do  so,  and  deny  you  knew  this  man, 
didn't  it?  It  told  you  not  to  help  a  man  named 
Sidney  Prale,  arrested  for  murder,  to  make  his  alibi 
by  telling  that  he  was  here  with  this  man  last  night 
about  eleven  o'clock,  didn't  it?'* 

"Y-yes,   sir." 

"And  you  did  just  what  the  letter  told  you?" 

"I  was  afraid  not  to  do  it,  sir.  I  didn't  know 
where  that  letter  came  from,  you  see." 

"Had  an  idea  it  came  from  some  boss,  didn't  you?'* 

"I  didn't  know  and  I  didn't  dare  take  a  chance, 
Mr.    Farland.      You   know   how   it   is?" 

"I  know  how  it  is  with  a  man  who  has  busted 
a    few   laws   and  knows   he   ought   to   be   pinched!" 

"Did  I  make  some  sort  of  a  mistake,  sir?  What 
should  I  do  now?" 

"Something  you  don't  do  very  often — tell  the 
truth,"  Jim  Farland  replied.    "How  about  this  man?" 

"He  came  here  with  the  other  gentleman  last  night 


ON  THE  TRAIL  107 

about  eleven  o'clock,  sir.  He  got  a  hair  cut  and  a 
shave,  and  the  other  gentleman  paid  the  bill." 

"Thanks.     Sure  about  the  time?" 

"I  know  that  it  was  almost  a  quarter  after  eleven 
when  they  left  the  shop." 

''Well,  I'm  glad  you  can  speak  the  truth.  Get 
on  your  hat  and  coat!" 

"I — what  do   you  mean,   sir?      Am   I   arrested?" 

"No.  Get  that  letter  and  come  with  me.  I  want 
you  to  tell  the  truth  to  somebody  else,   that's  all." 

The  frightened  barber  got  his  hat  and  coat  and 
the  letter,  and  followed  Jim  Farland  and  Murk  to 
the  corner.  There  Farland  engaged  another  taxicab, 
and  ordered  the  chauffeur  to  drive  back  to  the  little 
clothing   store. 

"Running  up  a  nice  expense  bill  for  Prale,  but  he 
won't  care,"  Jim  Farland  said  to  Murk. 

He  compelled  the  merchant  to  shut  up  his  shop 
and  get  into  the  cab,  and  then  the  chauffeur  drove 
to  police  headquarters.  Farland  had  telephoned  from 
the  clothing  store,  and  the  captain  of  detectives  was 
waiting  for  him.  He  ushered  the  merchant  and  the 
barber  into  the  office,  looked  down  at  the  captain, 
and   grinned. 

"What's  all  this?"  the  captain  demanded. 

"It's  Sid  Prale's  alibi,"  Jim  Farland  said.  "These 
two  gents  want  to  tell  you  how  they  lied  to-day,  and 
why  they  lied.     It  is  an  interesting  story." 

The  captain  sat  up  straight  in  his  chair,  while  Jim 
Farland  removed  his  hat,  sat  down,  motioned  for 
Murk  to  do  the  same,  and  made  himself  comfortable. 

"About  that  alibi,"  Farland  said.     "I  know  that 


io8  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

George  Lerton  lied  about  meeting  Sid  Prale  on  Fifth 
Avenue,  but  you  don't,  and  so  we'll  let  that  pass  for 
the  time  being  and  get  to  it  later.  I  just  want  to 
show  you  now  that  Prale's  story  about  meeting  this 
man  Murk  was  a  true  tale.  This  clothing  merchant 
is  ready  to  say  now  that  Prale  and  Murk  were  in 
his  place  last  night  about  half  past  ten,  and  that 
Murk  got  his  clothes  there.  And  this  barber  is  ready 
to  swear  that  Prale  and  Murk  arrived  at  his  shop 
about  a  quarter  of  eleven  or  eleven,  and  did  not 
leave  until  a  quarter  after  eleven.  Prale  and  Murk 
got  to  the  hotel,  as  you  knov/,  at  midnight,  Prale 
couldn't  have  gone  to  that  other  hotel,  murdered 
Rufus  Shepley,  and  got  to  his  suite  by  twelve  o'clock, 
not  if  he  left  that  barber  shop  far  downtown  at  a 
quarter  after  eleven,  could  he?" 

"Scarcely,"  said  the  captain. 

"Very  well.  Ask  these  two  gents  some  ques- 
tions." 

The  captain  did.  He  read  the  two  typewritten 
letters  and  he  understood  how  the  fear  of  a  political 
power  might  have  been  in  the  hearts  of  the  two 
men.    He  rebuked  them  and  allowed  them  to  go. 

"Well,  it  looks  a  little  better  for  Mr.  Prale,"  the 
captain  said,  "but  this  isn't  the  end,  by  any  means. 
Remember  that  fountain  pen  of  his  that  was  found 
beside   the   body   of   Rufus   Shepley!" 

"I  didn't  say  that  It  was  the  end,"  Jim  Farland 
declared.  "I  don't  want  it  given  out  that  any  evi- 
dence has  been  found  that  is  in  Prale's  favor.  I 
just  want  you  to  whisper  in  the  ear  of  the  court 
that   the   alibi   looks   good,   and   let  it  go   at   that. 


ON  THE  TRAIL  109 

There's  something  behind  this  case,  and  we  want  to 
find  out  what  it  is.  Prale  is  out  on  bail — and  let  it 
go  at  that,  as   far  as  the  public  is  concerned." 

"I  grasp  you,"  said  the  captain.  "You  want  these 
enemies  of  his  to  think  he  is  in  deep  water,  so 
they'll   be   off  guard  and  you  can   do  your   work." 

"Exactly,"  said  Jim  Farland. 

"Good  enough.     I'll  do  my  part." 

"Know  anything  about  a  woman  calling  herself 
Kate  Gilbert?" 

"Never  heard  of  her." 

Farland  explained  what  Prale  had  told  him.  The 
captain   fingered   his   mustache. 

"Several  thousand  women  in  this  town  answer 
that  general  description,"  he  said.  "I'm  afraid  I 
can't   help  you,    unless   you   can   pick   her   up." 

"That's  what  I'll  do  as  soon  as  I  can,"  Farland 
replied.  "If  I  can  get  my  eyes  on  her  once,  I'll 
trail  her  and  find  out  a  few  things.  She  may  have 
nothing  to  do  with  this,  and  she  may  have  a  great 
deal  to  do  with  it.  What  do  you  know  about  George 
Lerton?" 

"Shady  broker,"  the  captain  replied.  "Never  done 
anything  outside  the  law,  as  far  as  I  know,  but  he's 
come  pretty  close  to  it.  I'd  hate  to  have  him  handling 
my  money." 

"Well,  he  lied  about  meeting  Prale.  He  did  his 
best  to  get  Prale  to  run  away  from  town.  That  was 
a  couple  of  hours  before  the  murder,  of  course, 
so  it  probably  had  nothing  to  do  with  that.  But 
why  should  he  try  to  get  Prale  out  of  town?  And, 
being  a  man  of  that  sort,  why  did  he  say  that  he 


no  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

wouldn't  handle  Praia's  funds?  You'd  think  a  man 
of  his  sort  would  like  nothing  better  than  to  get 
his   fingers   tangled   up   in   that   million." 

"I'll  have  a  man  take  a  look  at  George  Lerton." 

"Don't  strain  yourself,"  said  Jim  Farland.  "I'm 
going  to  take  a  look  at  him  myself,  the  first  thing 
to-morrow   morning." 

He  left  headquarters  with  Murk,  and  this  time 
he  did  not  engage  a  taxicab.  He  walked  up  the 
street.  Murk  at  his  side,  and  puffed  at  a  cigar 
furiously. 

"Well,  Murk,  we've  made  a  good  start,"  Farland 
said,  after  a  time. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"How  do  you  like  working  with  a  detective  now?" 

"Aw,   you  ain't  a   regular  detective,"   Murk   said. 

"What's  that?" 

"I  mean  you  ain't  an  ordinary  dick.  You  got 
some   sense." 

"Thanks  for  the  compliment.  I  know  men  who 
would  dispute  the  statement,"  Farland  told  him. 

They  walked  and  walked,  and  after  a  time  were 
on  Fifth  Avenue  and  going  toward  the  hotel  where 
Prale  had  his  suite.  Suddenly,  just  ahead  of  them, 
they  saw  Sidney  Prale  and  the  man  from  head- 
quarters.    They  hurried  to  catch  up  with  them. 

"What's  the  idea?"  Farland  asked. 

"Needed  a  walk,"  Prale  replied.  "Didn't  feel 
like  going  to  bed,  and  a  walk  would  do  me  good, 
I  knew." 

"I'll  have  some  things  to  tell  you  in  the  morning," 
Farland  said.     "But  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  to- 


ON  THE  TRAIL  in 

night,  except  to  say  that  It  is  good  news,  and  I'm 
issuing  orders  to  Murk  not  to  tell  you,  either.  I 
want  you  to   forget  the  thing  and  get  some  rest." 

"All  right,"  Prale  said,  laughing;  and  then  he 
stopped  still  and  gasped. 

"What  is  it?"  Farland  asked. 

"Kate  Gilbert!" 

"Where?" 

"There — just  getting  into  that  limousine.  See 
her?      The    girl    with    the    red    hat!" 

"I  see  her,"  Farland  replied,  signaling  the  chauffeur 
of  a  passing  taxicab.  "This  is  what  I  was  hoping 
for,  Sid.  Go  on  to  the  hotel  with  Murk  and  guard. 
I'm  going  to  find  out  a  few  things  about  Miss  Kate 
Gilbert!" 

He  gave  the  chauffeur  of  the  taxicab  whispered 
directions,  and  then  sprang  into  the  machine. 


CHAPTER  XI 

CONCERNING    KATE    GILBERT 

GIVEN  a  definite  trail  to  follow,  Jim  Farland 
was  one  of  the  best  trackers  in  the  business. 
He  liked  to  know  his  quarry  by  sight,  and  conduct 
the  hunt  in  a  proper  manner.  And  so  he  rejoice^ 
that  now  he  was  following  a  person  he  believed 
to  be  interested  in  some  way  in  the  Shepley  case. 

The  limousine  went  up  Fifth  Avenue  toward  Cen- 
tral Park,  and  the  taxicab  with  Jim  Farland  inside 
followed  half  a  block  behind.  Farland  did  nothing 
except  look  ahead  continually  and  make  sure  that 
his  chauffeur  did  not  lose  the  other  machine.  He 
wanted  to  discover,  first,  where  Miss  Kate  Gilbert 
was  going,  and  after  that  he  wanted  to  acquire  all 
the  information  he  could  concerning  her. 

There  was  little  traffic  on  the  Avenue  at  this 
hour,  and  the  limousine  made  good  progress.  It 
curved  around  the  Circle  and  went  up  Central  Park 
West.  In  the  Eighties  it  turned  off  into  a  side 
street,  and  finally  drew  up  to  the  curb  and  stopped. 
The  taxicab  came  to  a  halt  a  hundred  feet  behind  it. 
**Wait,"  Jim  Farland  instructed  the  chauffeur,  show- 
ing his  shield.  "Wait  until  I  come  back,  even  if  I 
don't  come  back  until  morning.  You  will  get  good 
pay,  all  right." 

The  chauffeur  settled  back  behind  his  wheel,  and 


CONCERNING  KATE  GILBERT  113 

Farland  stepped  to  one  side  in  the  darkness  and 
watched.  He  saw  an  elderly  gentleman  emerge  from 
the  limousine  and  turn  to  help  Kate  Gilbert  out. 
Then  the  elderly  gentleman  got  into  the  car  again 
and  was  driven  away,  and  Kate  Gilbert  went  into  the 
apartment  house  before  which  the  limousine  had 
stopped. 

Detective  Jim  Farland  hurried  forward,  but  when 
he  came  opposite  the  apartment  house  he  slowed 
down  and  walked  slowly,  glancing  in.  It  was  not  an 
apartment  house  of  the  better  sort.  The  lobby 
was  small,  there  was  an  automatic  elevator,  and  no 
hall  boy  was  on  duty,  that  Farland  could  see.  There 
was  a  row  of  mail  boxes  against  a  wall,  with  name 
plates   over  them. 

Farland  went  up  the  steps,  opened  the  door,  and 
stepped  inside  the  lobby.  He  walked  across  to  the 
mail  boxes  and  began  looking  at  the  names.  He 
found  some  one  named  Gilbert  had  an  apartment  on 
the  third  floor,  front. 

The  stairs  were  before  him,  and  Farland  was 
about  to  start  up  them  when  a  door  leading  to  the 
basement  was  opened,  and  a  janitor  appeared.  He 
was  an  old  man,  bent  and  withered,  and  he  looked 
at  Farland  with  sudden  suspicion. 

"You  want  to  see  somebody  in  the  house?"  he 
asked,  in  a  voice  that  quavered. 

"I  want  to  see  you,"  Jim  Farland  answered. 

"What  about,   sir?" 

Farland  exhibited  his  shield,  and  the  old  janitor 
recoiled,    fright    depicted    in    his    face. 

"I   ain't   done   anything   wrong,    mister,"   he    said 


114  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

hoarsely.  "I  obey  all  the  regulations  about  ashes 
and   garbage   and   everything   like   that." 

"Don't  be  afraid  of  me,"  Farland  said.  'Tm  not 
accusing  you  of  doing  anything  wrong,  am  I?  I 
can  see  that  you're  a  law-abiding  man.  You  haven't 
nerve  enough  to  be  anything  else.  Suppose  you 
step  outside  with  me  for  a  few  minutes.  I  just 
want  to  ask  you  a  few  questions  about  something." 

"All  right,  sir,  if  that's  it,"  the  old  janitor  said. 

He  opened  the  front  door  and  led  the  way  out- 
side, and  Farland  forced  him  to  walk  a  short  dis- 
tance down  the  street,  and  there  they  stopped  in  a 
doorway  to  talk. 

"I'm  going  to  ask  you  a  few  questions,  and  you 
are  going  to  answer  them,  and  then  you  are  going 
to  forget  that  you  ever  saw  me  or  that  I  ever  asked 
you  a   thing,"   Farland   said. 

"I  understand,  sir.  I  won't  give  away  any  police 
business,"  the  old  janitor  replied.  "I  know  all  about 
such  things.  I  had  a  nephew  once  who  was  a  po- 
liceman." 

"There's  a  party  living  in  your  place  who  goes 
by  the  name  of  Gilbert,  isn't  there?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"How  many  are  there  in  the  family,  and  who  are 
they,   and   what   do  you   know  about   them?" 

"There  is  an  old  man,  sir,"  the  janitor  answered. 
"He's  a  sort  of  cripple,  I  guess.  He  always  sits  in 
one  of  them  invalid  chairs,  and  when  he  goes  out 
somebody  has  to  wheel  him.  If  he  ain't  exactly  a 
cripple,  then  he's  mighty  sick  and  weak." 

"Who  else  is  in  the   family?" 


CONCERNING  KATE  GILBERT  115 

"He's  got  a  daughter,  whose  name  is  Miss  Kate," 
the  janitor  said.  "She's  a  mighty  fine-lookin'  girl, 
too.  She's  a  nice  woman,  I  reckon.  'Pears  to  be, 
anyway." 

"Do  you  know  anything  in  particular  about  her?" 
Jim    Farland   asked   him. 

"Well,  she's  been  away  for  about  three  months, 
and  she  just  got  back,"  the  janitor  replied.  "I  don't 
know  where  she  was — didn't  hear.  While  she  was 
gone,  there  was  a  man  nurse  'tended  to  her  father — 
cooked  the  meals  and  kept  the  apartment  clean  and 
took  him  out  in  his  wheel  chair.  Miss  Kate  has  a 
maid  they  call  Marie — a  big,  ugly  woman.  She 
takes  care  of  things  generally  when  she  is  here,  but 
she  was  away  with  Miss  Kate." 

"How  long  have  they  lived  here?"  Farland  asked. 

"About  three  years,  sir.  But  I  don't  know  much 
about  them.  They  ain't  the  kind  of  folks  a  man 
can  find  out  a  lot  about.  They  act  peculiar  some- 
times." 

"Are  they  rich?" 

"My  gracious,  no!"  said  the  old  janitor.  "They 
pay  their  rent  on  time,  and  they  always  seem  to 
have  plenty  to  eat,  and  I  guess  they  can  afford 
to  keep  that  maid  and  hire  a  nurse  once  in  a  while, 
but  they  ain't  what  you'd  call  rich.  But  Miss  Kate 
comes  home  in  a  big  automobile  now  and  then, 
and  she  seems  to  have  a  lot  of  clothes.  There's 
something   funny   about   it,    at   that." 

"Think  she  isn't  a  decent  woman?"  Farland  asked. 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  she's  a  bad  sort,  sir,  if  that  is 
what  you  mean.     She   doesn't   seem   to  be,   at  all. 


ii6  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

I  guess  she  gets  her  swell  clothes  honest  enough. 
I  think  that  she  works  for  somebody  and  has  to 
dress  that  way." 

"Do  they  get  much  mail  and  have  many  visitors?" 

"They  get  a  few  letters,  and  some  newspapers  and 
magazines,"  the  janitor  replied.  "And  they  don't 
seem  to  have  many  visitors.  I've  seen  a  man  come 
here  once  or  twice  to  see  them,  and  once  he  brought 
Miss  Kate  home  in  an  auto.  He  looks  like  a  rich 
man." 

"Is  he  old  or  young?"  Farland  asked. 

"Oh,  he  has  gray  hair,  sir,  and  looks  like  a  dis- 
tinguished gentleman,  like  a  lawyer  or  something. 
I  guess  he's  rich.  I  think  maybe  he  is  an  old 
friend  of  Mr.   Gilbert's,   or  something  like  that." 

"They  live  on  the  third  floor,  don't  they?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Any  vacant  apartments   up  there?" 

"Why,  the  apartment  adjoining  theirs  happens  to 
be  vacant  just  now,  sir." 

"You  take  me  up  to  that  vacant  apartment,"  Jim 
Farland  directed.  "Let  me  in  without  making  any 
noise,  and  then  forget  all  about  me  until  I  speak 
to  you  again.  Here  is  a  nice  little  bill,  and  there  will 
be  more  if  you  attend  to  business.  I'm  an  officer,  so 
you'll  not  get  in  trouble  with  the  landlord." 

The  old  janitor  accepted  the  bill  gladly,  and  led 
the  way  back  to  the  house.  Jim  Farland  refused 
to  use  the  elevator;  he  insisted  on  walking  up  the 
stairs,  and  on  going  up  noiselessly.  When  they 
reached  the  third  floor,  he  was  doubly  alert. 

The  old  janitor  pointed  out  the  door  of  the  vacant 


CONCERNING  KATE  GILBERT  117 

apartment,  and  handed  Farland  a  key.  Then  he 
pattered  back  down  the  stairs.  Farland  slipped  along 
the  hall,  unlocked  the  door  of  the  vacant  apartment, 
darted  inside,  and  locked  the  door  again,  putting 
the  key  in  his  pocket.  And  then  he  moved  noiselessly 
through  the  apartment  until  he  had  reached  the  front. 

He  could  hear  voices  in  the  apartment  adjoining, 
and  could  make  out  the  conversation.  A  woman 
was  speaking — Farland  decided  that  she  was  Kate 
Gilbert — and  the  weak  voice  of  a  sick  man  was 
answering  her  now  and  then. 

"Let's  not  talk  about  it  any  more  to-night,  father," 
the  girl  was  saying.  "You'll  not  sleep  well,  if  you 
get  to  thinking  about  it.  You  must  go  to  bed  now, 
and  we'll  have  a  real  talk  about  things  when  I  have 
something  of  importance  to  tell  you.  Get  a  good 
sleep,  and  in  the  morning  Marie  can  take  you  out 
in  the  Park." 

Jim  Farland  could  hear  the  old  man  mutter  some 
reply,  and  then  there  reached  his  ears  the  squeaking 
of  a  wheel  chair  being  rolled  across  the  floor.  He 
remained  for  a  time  standing  against  the  wall,  lis- 
tening. He  decided  that  those  in  the  Gilbert  apart- 
ment were  preparing  to  retire.  Half  an  hour  later, 
Farland  slipped  from  the  room  and  went  to  the  base- 
ment to  find  the  janitor. 

"Here's  your  key,"  he  said.  "I'll  be  back  here 
in  the  morning,  and  I'll  want  to  see  you.  And  re- 
member— you're  not  to  say  a  word  about  all  this." 

"Not  a  single  word,   sir." 

Farland  went  back  to  the  taxicab  and  drove  to  his 
own  modest  home,  where  he  tumbled  into  bed  and 


ii8  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

slept  the  sleep  of  the  just.  When  Jim  Farland  slept, 
he  slept — and  when  he  worked,  he  worked.  Farland 
did  not  mix  labor  and  rest. 

He  arose  early,  hurried  through  his  breakfast,  got 
another  taxicab  and  went  up  into  the  Eighties  again. 
The  old  janitor  was  sweeping  off  the  walk  in  front 
of  the  apartment  house.  The  curtains  at  the  windows 
of  the  Gilbert  apartment  were  still  down. 

"Give  me  that  key  again  and  give  me  a  pass 
key,  too,"  Farland  told  the  old  janitor.  "If  the 
maid  takes  Mr.  Gilbert  out,  and  Miss  Gilbert  is 
gone  at  the  same  time,  I  want  to  get  into  their 
apartment  and  take  a  look  around.  Understand? 
And  I'll  want  you  to  watch,  so  I'll  not  be  caught  in 
there." 

"I  understand,  sir.     Here  are  the  keys." 

Farland  reached  the  vacant  apartment  without 
being  seen.  The  Gilberts  were  up  now  and  eating 
breakfast.  He  could  hear  Kate  Gilbert  trying  to 
cheer  her  father,  but  not  a  word  she  said  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  Sidney  Prale,  or  Rufus  Shepley, 
or  anybody  connected  in  any  way  with  the  Shepley 
murder  case. 

"Now  you  must  let  Marie  take  you  to  the  Park, 
father,"  he  heard  the  girl  say.  "It  is  a  splendid 
day,  and  you  must  get  a  lot  of  fresh  air.  You  can 
go  down  and  watch  the  animals.  I'm  going  out 
now,  but  I'll  be  back  some  time  during  the  after- 
noon, and  then  we'll  talk  about  things." 

Jim  Farland  waited  in  the  vacant  apartment  until 
he  heard  Kate  Gilbert  depart.  A  quarter  of  an  hour 
later,   he   opened   the    front   door   a   crack   and    saw 


CONCERNING  KATE  GILBERT  119 

the  gigantic  Marie  wheel  out  the  chair  with  Mr. 
Gilbert  in  it.     They  went  down  in  the  elevator. 

Farland  waited  for  another  quarter  of  an  hour, 
until  the  old  janitor  came  up  and  told  that  he  had 
watched  the  maid  wheel  Mr.  Gilbert  into  the  Park. 

"I'll  just  leave  the  elevator  up  here  until  some- 
body rings,"  the  old  janitor  said,  "and  I'll  watch 
the  floor  below  from  the  top  of  the  stairs.  Then, 
if  any  of  them  come  back,  I'll  tell  you  so  you  can 
get  out." 

He  took  his  station  at  the  head  of  the  stairs, 
leaving  the  elevator  door  open  so  that  the  contrivance 
could  not  be  operated  from  below.  Jim  Farland 
unlocked  the  door  of  the  Gilbert  apartment  and 
stepped  inside. 

The  first  glance  told  him  that  it  was  an  ordinary 
apartment  furnished  in  quite  an  ordinary  manner.  It 
certainly  did  not  look  like  a  home  of  wealth,  and 
Sidney  Prale  had  said  that  it  had  been  understood 
in  Honduras  that  Kate  Gilbert  was  of  a  rich  family 
and  traveling  for  her  health. 

Many  tourists  claim  to  have  money  when  they 
are  away  from  home,  of  course,  but  the  part  about 
traveling  for  her  health  seemed  to  Jim  Farland  to 
be  going  a  bit  too  far.  Would  such  a  woman  be 
traveling  for  her  health  and  leave  behind  her  at 
home  an  old  father  who  was  an  invalid? 

"There's  something  behind  that  little  trip  of  hers," 
Farland  told  himself.  'Tt  looks  to  me  as  if  she 
had  gone  down  to  Honduras  to  look  up  Sid  Prale 
for  some  reason.  And  Honduras  isn't  exactly  on  the 
health-trip  list,  either." 


120  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

He  began  a  close  inspection  of  the  apartment, 
leaving  no  trace  of  his  search  behind  him,  disarrang- 
ing nothing  that  he  did  not  replace.  Jim  Farland 
was   an   expert  at   such   things. 

He  ransacked  a  small  desk  that  stood  in  one 
corner  of  the  living  room  and  found  a  tablet  of 
writing  paper  similar  to  that  upon  which  had  been 
written  the  anonymous  messages  Sidney  Prale  had 
received.  He  found  scraps  of  writing  in  the  waste- 
basket,  too,  and  inspected  them  carefully. 

"Somebody  in  this  apartment  wrote  those  notes, 
all  right,"  Farland  mused.  "But  why?  That's  the 
question  I  want  answered,  and  I'll  have  to  be  care- 
ful how  I  start  in  to  find  out.  You  can't  bluff 
that  girl;  one  look  is  enough  to  tell  me  that.  If 
I  jump  her  about  those  notes,  she'll  probably  get 
wise  and  cover  her  tracks,  and  then  I'll  be  strictly 
up  against  it." 

He  found  nothing  else  of  importance  in  the  apart- 
ment. There  were  some  letters,  but  they  seemed  to 
be  from  relatives  scattered  throughout  the  country, 
ordinary  letters  dealing  with  family  affairs  of  no 
particular  consequence,  and  they  told  Jim  Farland 
nothing  that  he  wished  to  know. 

But  Kate  Gilbert  was  only  one  angle  of  the  case, 
he  reminded  himself,  and  so  he  decided  that  he  was 
done  for  the  present  as  far  as  she  was  concerned. 
It  would  be  only  a  waste  of  valuable  time,  he  thought, 
to  remain  longer  in  the  Gilbert  apartment;  and  there 
were   plenty   of   other   things    for   him    to   be   doing. 

Farland  went  all  over  the  apartment  once  more, 
making   sure   that  he  was   leaving  everything  in   its 


CONCERNING  KATE  GILBERT  121 

proper  place,  that  there  would  be  nothing  to  show- 
that  anybody  had  been  making  an  investigation  there. 
Then  he  hurried  out  and  locked  the  door,  returned  the 
keys  to  the  old  janitor,  gave  him  another  bill  and 
instructed  him  to  forget  the  visit,  lighted  a  black 
cigar,  and  started  walking  rapidly  southward. 

When  the  proper  time  arrived,  Jim  Farland  would 
tell  Miss  Kate  Gilbert  that  he  knew  she  had  written 
the  anonymous  notes  to  Sidney  Prale — or  that  her 
maid  had — and  he  would  ask  her  why. 

He  reached  Columbus  Circle,  made  his  way  over 
to  Fifth  Avenue,  and  continued  his  walk  down  that 
broad  thoroughfare.  Farland  had  decided  to  go  to 
the  hotel  and  have  a  talk  with  Sidney  Prale  and 
Murk.  He  told  himself  that  he  was  going  to  like 
Murk,  the  human  hulk  who  suddenly  had  become 
of  some  use  in  the  world. 

But  he  did  not  get  a  chance  to  go  to  the  hotel 
just  then.  He  came  to  a  busy  corner,  and  stopped 
to  wait  for  a  chance  to  cross  the  street  congested 
with  traffic.  Suddenly,  a  few  feet  to  his  right,  he 
saw  Kate  Gilbert,  who  had  left  her  apartment  only  a 
short   time   before. 

There  was  nothing  startling  in  that  fact  alone, 
for  this  was  a  district  where  there  were  fashionable 
shops  and  beauty  parlors,  and  well-dressed  women 
were  on  every  side. 

What  interested  Detective  Jim  Farland  the  most 
was  that  Kate  Gilbert  was  standing  before  the  show 
window  of  a  fashionable  shop  in  intimate  conversa- 
tion with  George  Lerton,  Sidney  Prale's  cousin! 


CHAPTER  XII 

BATTERED     KEYS 

FARLAND  started  moving  slowly  toward  them, 
making  his  way  through  the  crowd  in  such 
fashion  that  he  did  not  attract  too  much  attention 
to  himself.  He  was  feeling  a  sudden  interest  in 
this  case.  There  were  great  possibilities  in  the  fact 
that  two  persons  connected  with  it  from  different 
angles  were  in  conversation. 

As  he  made  his  way  toward  the  show  window, 
he  remembered  how  this  George  Lerton  had  tried 
to  induce  Sidney  Prale  to  leave  the  city  and  remain 
away,  and  how,  afterward,  he  had  denied  that  he 
had  seen  Prale  on  Fifth  Avenue  and  had  spoken  to 
him. 

"He's  connected  with  this  thing  in  some  way," 
Farland  told  himself,  "It's  my  job  to  discover  ex- 
actly how." 

But  he  was  doomed  to  be  disappointed.  Before 
he  could  get  near  enough  to  make  an  attempt  to 
overhear  what  they  were  saying,  they  suddenly  parted. 
Kate  Gilbert  went  into  the  shop,  and  George  Lerton 
crossed  the  street  and  hurried  down  the  Avenue. 

It  was  no  use  wasting  time  on  Kate  Gilbert.  Far- 
land  knew  where  to  find  her  if  he  wanted  her,  and 
he  knew  there  would  be  no  use  in  shadowing  her 
now,  since  she  probably  had  gone  into  the  shop  to 


BATTERED  KEYS  123 

purchase  a  hat.  But  George  Lerton  was  quite  an- 
other matter. 

The  detective  did  not  hesitate.  He  swung  off 
down  Fifth  Avenue  in  the  wake  of  George  Lerton. 

Farland  was  a  rough  and  ready  man,  and  he  had 
little  liking  for  male  humans  of  the  George  Lerton 
type.  Lerton  always  dressed  in  the  acme  of  fashion, 
running  considerably  to  fads  in  clothes,  appearing 
almost  effeminate  at  times.  And  yet  it  was  said 
in  financial  circles  that  Lerton  was  far  from  being 
effeminate  when  it  came  to  a  business  deal.  There 
had  been  whispers  about  his  dark  methods,  and  it 
was  well  known  that  a  business  foe  got  small  sym- 
pathy or  consideration  from  him.  He  was  a  fash- 
ionable cutthroat  without  any  of  the  milk  of  human 
kindness   in  his   system. 

It  was  a  surprise  to  Jim  Farland  to  see  Lerton 
walking.  He  was  the  sort  of  man  who  likes  to 
advertise  his  success,  and  he  had  a  couple  of  im- 
posing motor  cars  that  he  generally  used.  But 
he  was  walking  this  morning,  and  the  fact  gave 
Farland    food  for   thought. 

Lerton  continued  down  the  Avenue,  and  Jim  Far- 
land  followed  him  closely.  He  expected  to  see  Ler- 
ton meet  some  one  else  and  engage  in  another  whis- 
pered conversation,  but  Lerton  did  not. 

"That  boy  is  worried,"  Farland  told  himself.  "He's 
one  of  those  birds  who  like  to  walk  when  they  want 
to  think  something  out.  If  I  could  only  know  what 
was  going  on  in  that  mind  of  his " 

Lerton  had  reached  Madison  Square,  and  there 
he  did  something  foreign  to  his  nature.     He  crossed 


124  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

the  Square,  proceeded  to  Fourth  Avenue,  and  de- 
scended  into   the   subway. 

Farland  was  a  few  feet  behind  him,  and  got 
into  the  same  car  when  Lerton  caught  a  downtown 
train.  He  followed  when  Lerton  got  off  and  went 
up  to  the  street  level  again,  and  now  the  broker 
made  his  way  through  the  throngs  and  along  the 
narrow  steets  until  he  finally  came  to  the  financial 
district.  After  a  time  he  turned  into  the  entrance 
of  an  office  building — the  building  where  his  own 
offices  were  located. 

The  detective  watched  him  go  up  in  the  elevator, 
and  then  he  turned  back  to  the  cigar  stand  in  the 
lobby  and  purchased  more  of  the  black  cigars  he 
loved.  For  a  time  he  stood  out  at  the  curb,  puffing 
and  thinking.  He  watched  the  building  entrance 
closely,  but  George  Lerton  did  not  come  down  again. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Farland  scarcely  had  ex- 
pected that  he  would.  He  believed  that  Lerton  had 
kept  an  appointment  with  Kate  Gilbert,  and  then 
had  continued  to  his  office  to  take  up  the  work  of 
the  day,  Farland  decided  that  he  would  give  Lerton 
a  chance  to  attend  to  the  morning  mail  and  pressing 
matters  of  business,  before  seeking  an   interview. 

Finally,  Farland  threw  the  stub  of  the  cigar  away, 
turned  into  the  entrance  of  the  building  once  more, 
and  walked  briskly  to  the  elevator.  He  shot  up  to 
the  tenth  floor,  went  down  the  hall,  and  entered  the 
reception  room  of  the  Lerton  offices.  An  imp  of  an 
office  boy  took  in  his  card. 

"Mr.  Lerton  will  see  you  in  ten  minutes,  sir," 
the  returning  boy  announced. 


BATTERED  KEYS  125 

Farland  touched  match  to  another  cigar.  He  was 
a  little  surprised  that  Lerton  had  sent  out  that  mes- 
sage. Lerton  knew  Farland,  as  Sidney  Prale  had 
known  him  in  the  old  days.  He  knew  Farland's 
business,  and  he  knew  that  the  detective  and  Prale 
were  firm  friends.  He  could  guess  that  Prale  had 
engaged  Jim  Farland  to  work  on  this  case  and  clear 
him  of  the  charge  of  having  murdered  Rufus  Shepley. 

After  a  time  the  boy  ushered  him  into  the  private 
office.  George  Lerton  was  sitting  behind  a  gigantic 
mahogany  desk,  looking  very  much  the  prosperous 
man  of  business. 

''Well,  Farland,  this  is  a  pleasure!"  Lerton  ex- 
claimed. "Haven't  seen  you  for  ages.  How's 
business?" 

"It  could  be  better,"  Jim  Farland  replied,  "and 
it  could  be  a  lot  worse.  I'm  making  a  good  living, 
and  so  have  no  kick  coming." 

"If  I  ever  need  a  man  in  your  line,  I'll  call  you 
in,"  George  Lerton  said.  "And  the  pay  will  be  all 
right,  too." 

"Don't  doubt  it,"   Farland  replied. 

"Want  to  see  me  about  something  special  this 
morning?" 

"Yes,   if   you   can   give   me  a   few  minutes." 

"All  the  time  you  like,"  Lerton  replied. 

That  was  not  like  the  man,  Jim  Farland  knew. 
Lerton  was  the  sort  to  try  to  make  himself  im- 
portant, the  always-busy  man  who  had  no  time  for 
anybody  less   than  a  millionaire. 

Farland  smiled  and  sat  down  in  a  chair  at  one 
end  of  the  desk.     He  twisted  his  hat  in  his  hands, 


126  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

looked  across  at  George  Lerton,  cleared  his  throat, 
and  spoke. 

"You  know  about  Sidney  Prale  being  in  a  bit  of 
trouble,  of  course?" 

"Yes.  Can't  understand  it,"  Lerton  replied,  frown- 
ing. "Sidney  always  had  a  temper,  of  course,  but 
I  never  thought  he  would  resort  to  murder  during 
a  fit  of  it.  You  know,  I  never  got  along  with  him 
any  too  well.  He  had  a  quarrel  with  his  sweetheart 
in  the  old  days  and  left  for  Honduras  twenty- four 
hours  later  and  remained  there  for  ten  years." 

"I  know  all  about  that,  of  course,"  Farland  said. 
"You  perhaps  have  guessed  that  he  sent  for  me — 
engaged  me  to  get  him  out  of  this  little  scrape." 

"Murder,  a  little  scrape?"  Lerton  gasped.  **I 
should  call  it  a  very  serious  matter." 

"Let  us  hope  that  it  will  not  be  a  serious  matter 
for  Sid,"  Farland  said  with  feeling.  "I  believe  that 
the  boy  is  innocent,  and  I  hope  to  be  able  to  clear 
him.     Will  you  help  me?" 

"I  never  had  any  particular  love  for  Sidney,  and 
neither  did  he  for  me,"  George  Lerton  said.  "How- 
ever, he  is  my  cousin,  and  I  hate  to  see  him  in 
trouble.  But  how  can  I  help  you?  I  don't  know 
anything  about  the  affair.'* 

"An  alibi  is  an  important  thing  in  a  case  like 
this,"  Farland  said.  "We  want  to  prove  an  alibi, 
if  we  can,  of  course.  Sidney  says  that  you  met  him 
on   Fifth  Avenue " 

"And  I  cannot  understand  that,"  Lerton  inter- 
rupted.    "Why  should  he   say  such  a  thing?" 

"You  didn't  meet  him?" 


BATTERED  KEYS  127 

*'I  certainly  did  not!  I  cannot  lie  about  such  a 
thing,  even  to  save  my  cousin.  Why,  it  would 
make  me  a  sort  of  accessory,  wouldn't  it?  I  cannot 
afford  to  be  mixed  up  in  anything  of  the  sort.  You 
must  understand  that!" 

"And  you  didn't  urge  him  to  leave  New  York 
and  remain  away  for  the  rest  of  his  life?" 

"I  didn't  see  him  at  all,"  George  Lerton  persisted. 
*'Why  on  earth  should  I  care  whether  he  remains 
in  New  York  or  takes  his  million  dollars  elsewhere?" 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  Farland  said.  "But 
it  seems  peculiar  to  me  that  Sid  would  tell  a  rotten 
falsehood  like  that.    Doesn't  it  look  peculiar  to  you?" 

"I  must  confess  that  it  does  not,"  George  Lerton 
replied.  "I  suppose  it  was  the  first  thing  that  came 
into  his  head.  He  was  trying  to  establish  an  alibi, 
of  course,  and  he  probably  thought  he  would  get  a 
chance  to  telephone  to  me  and  ask  me  to  stand  by 
the  story  he  had  told,  thinking  that  I  would  do  it 
because  of  our  relationship." 

"I  was  hoping  that  you  would  tell  me  you  had 
met  him  on  Fifth  Avenue,"  Farland  said.  "It 
would  have  made  his  alibi  stronger,  of  course,  and 
every  little  bit  helps." 

"Stronger?  You  mean  to  say  that  he  has  any 
sort  of  an  alibi  at  all?" 

"A  dandy!"  Farland  exclaimed.  "In  fact,  we  have 
an  alibi  that  tells  us  that  Sid  was  quite  a  distance 
from  Rufus  Shepley's  suite  when  Shepley  was  slain." 

"Why,  how  is  that?" 

"Sid  picked  up  a  bum  and  tried  to  make  a  man 
of   him.      He   bousrht   the    fellow   some   clothes   and 


128  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

took  him  to  a  barber  shop.  The  clothing  merchant 
and  the  barber  furnish  the  ahbi." 

An  expression  of  consternation  was  in  George 
Lerton's  face,  and  Jim  Farland  was  quick  to  no- 
tice   it. 

"Of  course,  I  am  glad  for  Sidney's  sake,"  Lerton 
said.  "But  I  had  really  believed  that  he  had  killed 
Shepley.     It  caused  me  a  bit  of  trouble,   too." 

"How  do  you  mean?"   Farland  asked. 

"Shepley  was  a  sort  of  client  of  mine,"  Lerton 
said.  "I  handled  a  deal  for  him  now  and  then. 
He  has  been  traveling  on  business  for  some  time, 
as  you  perhaps  know.  I  had  hopes  that  he  would 
give  me  a  certain  large  commission  and  that  I  would 
make  a  handsome  profit.  He  was  about  convinced, 
I  am  sure,  that  I  was  the  man  to  handle  it  for  him. 
His  small  deals  with  me  had  always  been  to  his 
profit  and  my  credit." 

"Oh,  I  understand!" 

"And  a  possible  good  customer  is  removed,"  Ler- 
ton went  on.  "So  you  have  an  alibi  for  Sidney, 
have  you?  In  that  case — if  he  did  not  kill  Rufus 
Shepley — he  must  have  told  that  story  about  meeting 
me  when  he  was  in  a  panic  immediately  following 
his  arrest.     Sid  always  was  panicky,  you  know." 

"I  didn't  know  that  a  panicky  man  could  pick  up  a 
million  dollars  in  ten  years." 

"Oh,  I  suppose  Sidney  was  fortunate.  There 
are  wonderful  opportunities  at  times  in  Central 
America,  and  I  suppose  he  happened  to  just  strike 
one  of  them  right.  He  was  very  fortunate,  indeed. 
Not  every  man  can  have  good  luck  like  that." 


BATTERED  KEYS  129 

"Well,  I'm  sorry  that  I  troubled  you,"  Farland 
said.  "And  now,  I'll  get  out — if  you'll  do  me  a 
small  favor." 

"Anything,  Farland." 

"I  see  you  have  a  typewriter  in  the  corner,  and 
I'd  like  to  write  a  short  note  to  leave  uptown." 

"Just  step  outside  and  dictate  it  to  one  of  my 
stenographers,"  said  George  Lerton. 

"That'd  be  too  much  trouble,"  Farland  replied 
"It's  only  a  few  lines,  and  I  can  pound  a  typewriter 
pretty  good.  Besides,  this  is  a  little  confidential 
report  that  I  would  not  care  to  have  your  stenog- 
rapher know  anything  about." 

"Oh,   I  see!     Help  yourself!" 

Farland  got  up  and  hurried  over  to  the  typewriter. 
He  put  a  sheet  of  paper  in  the  machine,  wrote  a  few 
lines,  folded  the  sheet  and  put  it  into  his  coat  pocket. 

"Well,  I'm  much  obliged,"  he  said.  "I  think  we'll 
have  Sid  out  of  trouble  before  long." 

"Let  us  hope  so!"  George  Lerton  said. 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  his  voice, 
however,  that  belied  the  words  he  spoke.  Farland 
gave  him  a  single,  rapid  glance,  but  the  expression 
of  Lerton's  face  told  him  nothing.  Lerton  was  a 
broker  and  used  to  big  business  deals.  He  was  a 
master  of  the  art  of  the  blank  countenance,  and 
Jim  Farland  knew  it  well. 

Farland  had  said  nothing  concerning  Kate  Gilbert, 
for  he  was  not  ready  to  let  George  Lerton  know 
that  he  suspected  any  connection  of  Miss  Gilbert 
with  the  Rufus  Shepley  case.  Farland  was  not  cer- 
tain himself  what  that  connection  would  be,  and  he 


130  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

knew  it  would  be  foolish  to  say  anything  that  would 
put  Lerton  on  guard  and  make  the  mystery  more 
difficult  of  solution. 

He  thanked  Lerton  once  more  and  departed.  Out 
in  the  corridor  and  some  distance  from  the  Lerton 
office,  he  took  from  his  pocket  the  note  he  had 
written  on  Lerton's  private  typewriter  and  glanced 
at  it  quickly.  Farland  was  merely  verifying  what 
he  had  noticed  as  he  had  typed  the  note. 

"That  was  a  lucky  hunch  about  that  typewriter," 
he  told  himself.  "This  case  is  going  to  be  inter- 
esting, all  right — and  for  several  persons." 

Farland  had  noticed  particularly  the  typewritten 
notes  that  had  been  received  by  the  clothing  mer- 
chant and  the  barber.  There  were  two  certain  keys 
that  were  battered  in  a  peculiar  manner,  and  another 
key  that  was  out  of  alignment. 

He  knew  now,  by  glancing  at  the  lines  he  had 
written  himself,  that  those  other  notes  had  been  typed 
on  the  same  machine.  He  guessed  that  it  had  been 
George  Lerton,  the  broker,  who  had  sent  those  notes 
and  the  money  to  the  barber  and  the  merchant. 

Why  had  George  Lerton  been  so  eager  to  destroy 
his  cousin's  alibi? 

Why  was  George  Lerton  trying  to  have  Sidney 
Prale  sent  to  the  electric  chair  for  murder? 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A    PLAN    OF    CAMPAIGN 

NATURALLY,  a  man  facing  prosecution  on  a 
murder  charge  is  liable  to  be  nervous,  whether 
he  is  innocent  or  not.  If  an  attempt  is  being  made 
to  gather  evidence  that  will  clear  him,  he  wishes  for 
frequent  reports,  always  hoping  that  there  will  be 
some  ray  of  hope.  And  so  it  was  with  Sidney  Prale 
this  morning,  as  he  paced  the  floor  in  the  living  room 
of  his  suite  in  the  hotel. 

Murk  had  done  everything  possible  to  make  Sidney 
Prale  comfortable.  Now  he  merely  stood  to  one  side 
and  watched  the  man  who  had  saved  him  from  a 
self-inflicted  death,  and  tried  to  think  of  something 
that  he  could  say  or  do  to  make  Prale  easier  in  his 
mind. 

They  had  not  seen  or  heard  from  Jim  Farland 
since  the  evening  before,  when  he  had  engaged  the 
taxicab  and  had  started  in  pursuit  of  the  limousine 
Kate  Gilbert  had  entered.  Prale  wondered  what  Far- 
land  had  been  doing,  whether  he  had  discovered  any- 
thing concerning  Kate  Gilbert,  whether  he  had  found 
a  clew  that  would  lead  to  an  unraveling  of  the 
mystery. 

"Are  you  sure  about  that  Farland  man,  Mr. 
Prale?"  Murk  asked,  after  a  time. 

"What    do    you    mean   by    that.    Murk?" 


132  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

"Well,  he's  a  kind  of  cop,  and  I  never  had  much 
faith  in  cops,"  said  Murk. 

"Farland  is  an  old  friend  of  mine,  Murk,  and  he 
is  on  the  square — if  that  is  what  you  mean." 

"He  sure  started  out  like  a  house  afire,  sir,  but 
he  seems  to  be  fallin'  down  now,"  Murk  declared. 
"He  sure  did  handle  that  barber  and  the  clothin' 
merchant,  but  he  ain't  showed  us  any  speed  since  he 
left  us  last  night." 

"He  is  busy  somewhere — you  may  be  sure  of 
that,"  Sidney  Prale  declared. 

"Well,  boss,  I  ain't  got  any  education,  and  I  ain't 
an  expert  in  any  particular  line,  but  I've  often  been 
accused  of  havin'  common  sense,  and  I'm  strong 
for   you!" 

"Meaning  what.   Murk?" 

"Nothin',  boss,  except  that  I'd  like  to  be  busy 
gettin*  you  out  of  this  mess.  Seems  to  me  I  know 
just  as  much  about  it  as  you  do,  and  if  we'd  talk 
matters  over,  maybe  I'd  get  some  sort  of  an  idea, 
or   somethin'   like   that." 

Prale  sat  down  before  the  window,  lighted  a  cigar, 
and  looked  up  at  Murk. 

"Go  ahead,"  he  said.  "It  won't  hurt  anything, 
and  it  will  serve  to  kill  time  until  we  hear  from 
Jim  Farland.    What  do  you  want  to  talk  about  first?" 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Murk,  clearing  his  throat 
and  attempting  to  speak  in  an  impressive  manner, 
"that  this  is  a  double-barreled  afifair." 

"What  do  you  mean?"   Prale  asked. 

"Well,  there's  the  murder  thing,  and  then  there's 
this  thing  about  you  havin'  some  powerful  and  secret 


A  PLAN  OF  CAMPAIGN  133 

enemies  that  are  tryin'  to  do  you  dirt  without  even 
comin'  out  in  the  open  about  it.  Maybe  them  two 
things  are  mixed  together,  and  maybe  again  they 
ain't.  If  they  ain't,  we've  got  two  jobs  on  our 
hands." 

"And,  if  they  are?"  Prale  asked. 

"Then  it  looks  to  me,  boss,  like  the  gang  that's 
after  you  is  tryin'  to  hang  this  murder  on  you  after 
havin'  had  somebody  croak  that  Shepley  guy." 

"I've  thought  of  that.  Murk.  But  it  doesn't  look 
possible,"  Prale  said.  "If  my  enemies  merely  wanted 
to  hang  a  murder  charge  on  me,  as  you  have  sug- 
gested, I  think  they  would  have  planned  better  and 
would  have  made  the  evidence  against  me  more  con- 
clusive. It  would  mean  that  there  would  be  a  lot 
of  persons  in  the  secret;  the  men  who  plan  murder 
do  not  like  to  take  the  entire  town  into  confidence 
about  it." 

"Well,    that   sounds   reasonable,"    Murk   admitted. 

"And  why  Rufus  Shepley?" 

"Because  you  had  that  spat  with  him  in  the  lobby 
of  the  hotel,  and  it  could  be  shown  that  you  had  a 
reason  for  knifin'  him,"  Murk  said,  with  evident 
satisfaction. 

"Nobody  could  have  known  I  was  going  to  have 
that  quarrel  with  Shepley,  because  I  had  no  idea  of 
it  myself  when  I  entered  the  hotel  lobby,"  Prale 
said.  "After  I  left  the  hotel,  I  met  Farland  and 
then  walked  down  to  the  river  and  met  you — and 
you  know  the  rest.  How  could  they  have  contem- 
plated hanging  that  crime  on  me  when  they  did  not 


134  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

know  but  that  I  had  a  perfect  alibi?  I  think  we're 
on  the  wrong  track,   Murk." 

"Well,  boss,  how  about  your  fountain  pen?"  Murk 
asked.     "How  come  it  was  found  beside  the  body?" 

"That  is  one  of  the  biggest  puzzles  in  the  whole 
thing,  Murk.  I  cannot  remember  exactly  when  I 
had  the  pen  last.  I  cannot  imagine  how  it  got  into 
Shepley's  room  and  on  the  floor  beside  his  body. 
That  fountain  pen  of  mine  is  an  important  factor  in 
this  case.   Murk,  and  it  has  me  worried." 

"It  seems  to  me,"  Murk  said,  "that  if  I  had  any 
powerful  enemies  after  my  scalp,  I'd  know  the  birds 
and  be  watchin'  out  for  them  all  the  time,  to  see 
that  they  didn't  start  anything  when  I  was  lookin' 
in  the  other  direction." 

"But,  Murk,  I  haven't  the  slightest  idea  who  they 
are,"  Sidney  Prale  declared.  "I  don't  know  why  I 
should  have  enemies  that  amount  to  anything,  and 
that  is  what  makes  it  so  puzzling.  How  can  I  work 
this  thing  out  when  I  don't  even  know  where  to 
start?     I  wish  Jim  Farland  would  come." 

Jim  Farland  did,  at  that  moment.  Murk  let  him 
in,  and  the  detective  tossed  his  hat  on  a  chair,  sat 
down  in  another,  lighted  one  of  his  own  black  cigars, 
and  looked  at  Sidney  Prale  through  narrowed  eyes. 

"Well,  Jim?"  Prale  asked. 

"I  talk  when  I've  really  got  something  to  say, 
but  I'm  not  going  to  make  general  conversation  and 
muddle  your  brains  with  a  lot  of  scattered  junk,"  Jim 
Farland  replied.  "I'll  say  this  much — things  are 
looking  much  better  for  you." 


A  PLAN  OF  CAMPAIGN  135 

"That  sounds  good,  Jim.  Can't  you  tell  me  any- 
thing?"  Prale  asked,   sitting   forward   on   his   chair. 

"The  barber  and  the  clothing  merchant  have  fixed 
up  a  part  of  your  alibi,  Sid,  as  perhaps  Murk  has 
told  you.  That  is  the  first  point.  It  makes  it  look 
impossible  for  you  to  have  slain  Rufus  Shepley,  and 
I  think  Lawyer  Coadley  could  get  the  charge  against 
you  dismissed  on  that  alone." 

"But  I  want  to  be  entirely  cleared." 

"Exactly.  You  don't  want  to  leave  the  slightest 
doubt  in  the  mind  of  a  single  person.  There  is  but 
one  way  to  clear  you  absolutely,  Sid.  We've  got  to 
show  conclusively  that  you  could  not  have  killed 
Shepley,  and  the  best  way  to  do  that  is  to  find  the 
person  who   did." 

"I  understand,  Jim." 

"There  seems  to  be  some  sort  of  a  mysterious 
alliance  against  you,  Sid.  You  say  that  you  can't 
understand  why  you  should  have  enemies  that  hate 
you  so,  and  I  know  you're  telling  the  truth.  Whether 
that  business  has  anything  to  do  with  the  murder, 
or  not,  I  am  not  prepared  to  say  now.  But  we  want 
to  find  out  about  this  enemy  business,  too,  don't  we?" 

"Certainly,"   Prale  said. 

"I  followed  Kate  Gilbert.  I  know  where  she  lives. 
She  does  not  belong  to  a  rich  family  and  does  not 
live  in  splendor.  But  she  wears  expensive  gowns 
and  has  plenty  of  spending  money,  and  has  mys- 
terious dealings  with  a  distinguished-looking  man. 
Her  father  is  mixed  up  in  it  in  some  way,  too.  I 
went  through  their  apartment,   Sid.      Somebody   in 


136  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

that  apartment  wrote  the  anonymous  notes  you  re- 
ceived." 

"What?"   Prale  gasped. 

**I  found  a  tablet  of  the  same  sort  of  paper,  and 
scraps  of  writing  in  the  wastebasket  that  were  in 
the    same   hand.      Think,    Sid!      On    the    ship " 

"By  George!"  Prale  exclaimed.  "She  could  have 
slipped  into  my  stateroom  and  pinned  that  note  to 
my  pillow,  and  she  could  have  stuck  the  second  one 
on  my  suit  case  as  I  walked  past  her  on  the  deck." 

"And  could  have  sent  the  others,"  Farland  added. 

"But,  why?"  Prale  demanded.  "I  never  saw  the 
woman  until  I  met  her  at  a  social  affair  in  Honduras. 
What  could  she  or  any  of  her  people  have  against 
me?" 

"Perhaps  it  was  the  maid,"  Farland  said. 

"She  could  have  done  it,  of  course,  the  same  as 
Kate  Gilbert,"  Prale  said.  "But  the  same  difficulty 
holds  good — why?  Kate  Gilbert  did  seem  to  avoid 
me,  and  I  caught  her  big  maid  glaring  at  me  once 
or  twice  as  if  she  hated  the  sight  of  me.  But 
why   on   earth " 

Farland  cleared  his  throat.  "Here  is  another 
thought  for  you  to  digest,"  he  said.  "This  Kate 
Gilbert  knows  your  cousin,  George  Lerton." 

Sidney  Prale  suddenly  sat  up  straight  in  his  chair 
again,  his  eyes  blinking  rapidly. 

"Doesn't  that  open  up  possibilities?"  Jim  Farland 
asked  him.  "The  woman  seems  to  be  working 
against  you  for  some  reason,  and  we  know  that 
George    Lerton   lied    about    meeting   you    on    Fifth 


A  PLAN  OF  CAMPAIGN  137 

Avenue  that  night.  It  appears  that  he  is  working 
against  you,   too,    for   some  mysterious  motive." 

A  dangerous  gleam  came  into  Sidney  Prale's  eyes. 
"That  simpHfies  matters,"  he  said,  "I'll  watch  for 
Kate  Gilbert,  and  when  I  see  her  I'll  ask  why  she 
sent  me  those  notes.  Then  I'll  get  George  Lerton 
alone  and  choke  out  of  him  why  he  lied  about  meet- 
ing me  on  the  Avenue.  I've  trimmed  worse  men  than 
George  Lerton." 

"You'll  be  a  good  little  boy  and  do  nothing  of 
the  sort,"  Farland  told  him.  "We  are  playing  a 
double  game,  remember — trying  to  solve  this  enemy 
business,  and  at  the  same  time  trying  to  clear  you 
of  a  murder  charge.  If  any  of  those  persons  get 
the  idea  that  we  are  unduly  interested  in  them,  we 
may  not  have  such  an  easy  time  of  it." 

"I  understand  that,  of  course." 

"Let  me  tell  you  a  few  more  things,  Sid.  I  saw 
Lerton  talking  to  Miss  Gilbert  on  the  street.  They 
were  speaking  in  very  low  tones.  When  they  parted, 
I  followed  Lerton  to  his  office,  and  went  in  and 
talked  to  him.  I  did  it  just  to  size  him  up.  He 
still  declares  that  he  never  met  you  on  Fifth  Avenue. 
He  acts  like  a  man  afraid  of  something;  and  I 
discovered  an  interesting  thing,  Sid.  He  has  a  type- 
writer in  his  private  office,  one  for  his  personal  use. 
I  managed  to  type  a  short  note  on  it." 

"What  of  that?" 

"That  typewriter  has  a  few  bad  keys,  Sid.  And 
I  discovered  this — that  the  notes  sent  to  the  barber 
and   merchant,   that  caused   them   to   lie  and   try  to 


138  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

smash  your  alibi,  were  written  on  the  typewriter  in 
George  Lerton's  office!" 

Prale  sprang  to  his  feet.  "Then  Lerton  has  some- 
thing to  do  with  this!"  he  cried.  "He  tried  to  get 
me  to  leave  town,  and  he  tried  to  break  down  my 
alibi.  How  did  he  know  I  was  going  to  make  an 
ahbi   like   that?" 

"My  guess  is  that  your  cousin  has  been  having 
you  watched  since  you  got  off  the  ship." 

"But,  why?"  Prale  cried.  "It  is  true  that  he 
married  the  girl  who  had  jilted  me  a  few  years 
before,  but  I  do  not  hold  that  against  him.  I  know 
of  no  reason  why  he  should  work  against  me  so." 

"Know  anything  about  him  that  might  cause  him 
serious  trouble  if  you  talked?" 

"No,"  Prale  replied.  "As  much  as  I  dislike  him, 
as  much  as  I  suspect  that  he  is  crooked  in  business, 
all  that  I  really  could  say  would  be  that  he  had  a 
mean  disposition  and  was  not  to  be  trusted  too  far." 

"I  thought  maybe  you  had  something  on  him, 
and  he  was  trying  to  get  you  out  of  the  way  so 
you'd  not  talk,"  Farland  said.  "That  would  explain  a 
lot,  of  course." 

"It  can't  be  that." 

"Then  we  are  up  in  the  air  again." 

"Why  not  ask  him?"  Prale  demanded.  "Believe 
me,  I'll  wait  for  him  to  come  from  his  office — and 
he'll  answer  me,  and  tell  the  truth!" 

"Put  that  hot  head  of  yours  under  the  nearest 
cold-water  faucet!"  Farland  commanded.  "You  make 
a  move  that  I  don't  sanction,  and  I'll  quit  the  case! 


A  PLAN  OF  CAMPAIGN  139 

You'll  spoil  things,  Sid,  if  you're  not  careful.     Just 
digest  what  I  have  told  you." 

"You're  in  command,  Jim!" 

"Very  well.  You  leave  George  Lerton  to  me, 
Sid.  There  are  many  angles  to  this  case,  and  I 
can't  attend  to  all  of  them  at  once.  I  don't  want 
to  call  in  other  detectives,  because  they  may  be  in 
the  pay  of  these  mysterious  enemies  of  yours,  and 
I  haven't  an  assistant  with  an  ounce  of  brains.  Sid, 
you've  got  to  turn  detective  yourself — you  and 
Murk." 

"I  was  just  wonderin'  if  I  was  goin'  to  get  a 
chance  to  do  anything,"  Murk  said. 

"Plenty  of  chances,"  Farland  replied.  "Sid,  you 
pick  up  this  Kate  Gilbert,  if  you  can.  Act  as  if  you 
did  not  suspect  a  thing.  Try  to  talk  to  her — you 
were  introduced  to  her  in  Honduras,  and  all  that. 
Don't  let  her  get  nervous  about  you,  but  watch  her 
as  much  as  you  can,  and  let  me  know  everything 
you  see  and  hear.  Take  a  look  at  that  big  maid, 
Marie,  when  you  get  a  chance.  If  you  can  do  so, 
and  think  it  advisable,  put  Murk  on  Marie's  trail. 
I'll   want  to   use   Murk  later   myself." 

Sidney  Prale  was  quick  to  agree.  And  thus,  with- 
out being  aware  of  it,  he  started  on  a  short  career 
of  adventure  and  romance. 

Had  Murk  been  a  crystal  gazer  or  something  of 
the  sort,  and  could  he  have  looked  into  the  future 
in  that  manner,  he  would  have  said  that  the  crystal 
lied. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MORE       M  YSTERY 

JIM  FARLAND  went  from  the  hotel  to  Coadley's 
office,  to  ascertain  whether  the  attorney's  private 
investigators,  who  were  working  independently  of 
him,  had  unearthed  anything  of  importance  in  con- 
nection with   the  case, 

Sidney  Prale  stated  that  he  would  go  for  a  walk, 
and  the  police  detective,  now  thoroughly  convinced 
that  he  would  not  try  to  run  away,  raised  no  ob- 
jection. It  was  Prale's  intention  to  make  an  attempt 
to  meet  Kate  Gilbert.  Murk  hurried  around  getting 
his  coat  and  hat  and  gloves  and  stick. 

"Fool  idea!"  Prale  told  himself.  "Kate  Gilbert 
has  given  me  the  cold  shoulder  already,  and  she  cer- 
tainly will  do  it  now,  since  I  stand  accused  of  mur- 
der. Not  a  chance  in  the  world  of  getting  better 
acquainted  with  her  now." 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do,  boss?"  Murk  asked. 
"I  don't  seem  to  be  amountin'  to  much  in  this  game. 
I'd  like  to  be  in  action,  I  would!  Can't  I  take  a 
hand?" 

"As  soon  as  possible,"  Prale  told  him.  "Remember, 
Farland  said  he  wanted  you  to  help  him  later." 

"I'd  rather  help  you  or  work  alone,"  Murk  said. 
"I  reckon  he  is  pretty  decent  for  a  detective,  but 
I  don't  put  much  stock  in  any  of  'em." 


MORE  MYSTERY  141 

Prale  laughed  as  he  finished  dressing,  put  on  his 
liat  and  gloves,  and  reached  for  his  stick. 

"Suppose  you  just  shadow  me  this  fine  day,"  he 
told  Murk.  "Get  a  little  practice  in  that  line.  Don't 
bother  me,  but  just  follow  and  watch." 

"I  getcha,  boss.  You  want  me  to  be  within  hailin' 
distance  in  case  you  need  help?" 

"Exactly,  Murk.  We  never  can  tell  what  is  going 
to  happen,  you  know.     I  may  need  you  in  a  hurry." 

"I'll  be  on  hand,"   Murk  promised. 

Sidney  Prale  went  down  in  the  elevator,  Murk 
going  down  in  the  same  car.  Prale  lounged  about 
the  lobby  for  a  time,  and  Murk  made  himself  as 
inconspicuous  as  possible  in  a  corner.  Prale  believed, 
as  Farland  had  intimated,  that  he  was  being  fol- 
lowed and  watched,  possibly  by  the  orders  of  George 
Lerton,  his  cousin.  He  did  not  know  why  Lerton 
should  have  done  it,  but  it  angered  him,  and  he 
wanted  to  discover  the  man  following  him. 

He  saw  nobody  in  the  lobby  who  appeared  at  all 
conspicuous,  and  after  a  short  time  he  left  and 
started  walking  briskly  down  the  Avenue,  like  any 
gentleman  taking  a  constitutional.  The  midday 
throngs  were  on  the  streets.  Prale  was  forced  to 
walk  slower,  and  now  and  then  he  stopped  to  look 
in  at  a  shop  window.  Once  in  a  while  he  stepped 
to  the  curb  and  glanced  behind.  But  if  there  was 
a  "shadow"  Prale  did  not  see  him. 

He  did  see  Murk,  however,  and  he  smiled  at 
Murk's  methods.  Murk  remained  a  short  distance 
behind  him,  moving  up  closer  whenever  Prale  was 
forced  to  cross  the  street,  so  he  would  not  lose  him 


142  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

in  the  throng.  Murk  was  ordinary-looking  and  had 
a  happy  faculty  of  effacing  himself  in  a  crowd.  He 
was  on  the  job  every  minute,  watching  Sidney  Prale, 
glancing  at  every  man  or  woman  who  approached 
Prale   or  as  much  as  looked  at   him. 

Prale  reached  Forty-second  Street,  crossed  it,  and 
came  opposite  the  library.  He  glanced  aside — and 
saw  Miss  Kate  Gilbert  walking  down  the  wide  steps. 

It  was  a  ticklish  moment  for  Sidney  Prale,  but  he 
remembered  that  he  was  fighting  to  protect  himself. 
If  Kate  Gilbert  ignored  him,  he  could  not  help  it. 
At  least,  he  would  give  her  the  chance. 

She  could  not  avoid  seeing  him,  for  they  met 
face  to  face  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps.  Prale  lifted 
his  hat. 

"Good  morning,  Miss  Gilbert,"  he  said. 

She  turned  and  met  his  eyes  squarely,  and  he  could 
see  that  she  hesitated  for  a  moment.  Then  her  face 
brightened,  and  she  stepped  toward  him. 

"Good  morning,"  she  replied.  "Although  it  is  a 
little  after  noon,  I  am  afraid." 

Her  words  might  have  been  for  the  benefit  of 
any  who  heard.  They  were  light  enough  and  cordial 
enough,  but  she  did  not  offer  him  her  hand,  and 
the  expression  on  her  face  was  scarcely  one  of 
welcome. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  again,"  Prale  said. 

"You  are  settled  and  feeling  at  home?" 

"In  a  measure,"  he  said. 

She  had  not  mentioned  the  crime  of  which  he 
was  accused,  and  he  did  not  wish  to  be  the  first 
to  speak  of  it.     She  stepped  still  closer. 


MORE  MYSTERY  143 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you,  Mr.  Prale,"  she  said. 
"Kindly  get  a  taxi  and  have  the  chauffeur  drive  us 
through  the  Park." 

Prale  scarcely  could  believe  his  good  fortune.  He 
had  doubted  whether  he  would  have  a  chance  to 
talk  to  her,  and  here  she  was  asking  him  to  engage 
a  taxicab   so   that  they  could  enjoy  a  conversation. 

He  hailed  a  passing  taxi,  put  her  in,  gave  the 
chauffeur  his  directions,  and  sprang  in  himself.  The 
machine  turned  at  the  first  corner  and  started  back 
up  the  Avenue  in  the  heavy  traffic. 

"You  wished  to  speak  to  me  about  something  in 
particular?"  Prale  asked. 

"Yes.  I  have  read  of  the  crime  of  which  you  are 
accused.     I  am  sure  that  you  are  not  guilty." 

"Thank  you.  Miss  Gilbert.  I  assure  you  that  I 
am  not.  It  is  an  unfortunate  affair,  which  we  hope 
to  have  cleared  up  within  a  short  time." 

"I  hope  that  you  will  be  free  soon,"  she  said. 
"And  then  you  will  be  able  to  enjoy  yourself,  I 
suppose." 

"I  hope  to  have  my  vacation  yet,"  Prale  said. 

"You  are  going  to  remain  in  New  York?" 

"Certainly;  it  is  my  home." 

"Sometimes  a  man  does  better  away  from  home." 

"But  I  have  been  away  from  home  for  ten  years. 
I  have  made  my  pile,  as  the  saying  is,  and  have 
come  home  to  show  off  and  lord  it  over  my  neigh- 
bors,"  Prale  replied,   laughing. 

They  had  reached  the  lower  end  of  Central  Park 
now,  and  the  taxi  turned  into  a  driveway,  and  made 
its  way  around  the  curves   toward   the   upper   end. 


144  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

The  chauffeur  was  busy  nodding  to  others  of  his 
craft  and  paying  no  attention  to  his  fares.  Sweet- 
hearts, he  supposed,  talking  silly  nothings  as  they 
were  driven  through  the  Park.  The  chauffeur  was 
used  to  such;  he  hauled  many  of  them. 

Kate  Gilbert  leaned  a  bit  closer  to  Prale,  and 
when  she  spoke  it  was  in  a  low,  tense  voice. 

"Go  away  from  New  York,  Mr.  Prale!" 

"Why  should  I  do  that?"  he  asked. 

"It  would  be  better  for  you,  I  feel  sure." 

"Because  of  the  absurd  charge  against  me?  I 
intend  to  have  my  innocence  proved,  and  I'd  hate 
to  run  away  and  let  people  think  that  perhaps  I 
was  guilty  after  all." 

"You  have  the  right  to  prove  your  innocence  of 
such  a  charge  to  all  the  world,"  she  said.  "But, 
after  you  have  done  it  conclusively,  you  should  go 
away." 

"Why?"  he  asked,  again. 

"Because — you  have  enemies,  Mr.  Prale!" 

"I  have  discovered  that;  but  I  do  not  know  why 
I  should  have  enemies." 

"Perhaps  you  did  something,  some  time,  to  create 
them." 

"But  I  haven't,"  Prale  declared. 

"Retribution  comes  when  we  least  expect  it,  Mr. 
Prale." 

"Yes.  I  believe  that  you  wrote  that  in  one  of 
your    notes." 

He  had  said  it!  And  Jim  Farland  had  told  him 
not  to  let  her  suspect  that  they  knew.  Well,  he 
couldn't  help   it  now. 


MORE  MYSTERY  145 

Kate  Gilbert  gasped  and  sat  back  from  him. 

"In  my  note?"   she   said. 

"The  notes  interested  me  greatly,  Miss  Gilbert.  I 
have  saved  them.  But  why  should  you  send  them 
to  me?" 

"You  can  ask  me  that!"  she  exclaimed.  "So  you 
know  that  I  wrote  them,  do  you?  In  that  case, 
Mr.  Prale,  you  know  why  I  spoke  of  retribution, 
you  probably  know  my  identity  and  intentions,  and 
you  know  why  you  have  enemies!" 

"But  I  do  not!"  he  protested. 

"Please  do  not  attempt  to  tell  a  falsehood,  Mr. 
Prale.  You  know  I  wrote  the  notes,  do  you?  Then 
you  know  everything  else.  So  you  are  going  to 
fight." 

"I  fail  to  understand  all  this." 

"Another  falsehood!"  she  cried.  "I  have  asked 
you  to  leave  New  York  and " 

"And  I  fail  to  see  why  I  should." 

"Then  remain — and  receive  the  retribution!"  she 
said.  "You  will  deserve  all  you  get,  Sidney  Prale! 
When  I  think  of  what  you  have  done " 

She  ceased  speaking,  and  turned  to  glance  through 
the  window. 

"You  were  kind  enough  to  say  that  you  believed 
me  innocent  of  the  murder  charge — — " 

"I  do.  I  hate  to  have  you  facing  a  thing  like 
that  when  you  are  innocent.  But  this  other  thing 
is " 

"Can't  you  explain?  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor 
that  I  do  not  understand  this." 

"Your  word  of  honor!"   she  sneered,   facing  him 


146  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

again.  "You  speak  of  honor — you?  That  is  the 
best  jest  of  all!" 

Sidney  Prale's   face  flushed. 

*T  had  hoped  that  I  was  a  man  of  honor,"  he 
said.  *T  always  have  tried  to  be  honorable  in  my 
dealings  with  men  and  women,  all  my  life.  Please 
understand  that.   Miss   Gilbert." 

"If  you  have  tried,  you  have  failed  miserably. 
Why  do  you  persist  in  telling  falsehoods,  Mr.  Prale. 
Do  you  think  that  I  am  a  weak,  silly  woman  ready 
to  be  hoodwinked  by  lies?" 

"But  I  assure  you " 

"I  do  not  care  for  any  of  your  assurances,"  she 
interrupted.  "I  wish  it  understood  that  we  are 
strangers  hereafter.  You  are  going  to  fight,  are  you? 
Fight,  Sidney  Prale — and  lose!  What  I  said  was 
correct — you  cannot  dodge  retribution.  It  will  take 
more  than  a  million  dollars  to  be  able  to  do  that." 

"My  dear  young  lady " 

"I  am  done,  Mr.  Prale.  I  have  said  all  that  I 
intend   saying  to  you." 

"Then  it  is  my  turn  to  talk!"  Prale  said.  "This 
thing  is  getting  to  be  so  serious  that  I  demand  an 
explanation.  Why  should  you,  and  others,  be  so 
eager  to  run  me  out  of   New   York?" 

"Others?" 

"Yes — particularly  one  man  we  both  know." 

"His  name,  please?" 

"Why  ask.  Miss  Gilbert?" 

"Very  well." 

"Why  do  you  want  me  to  run  away?" 

"I  did  not  know  that  others  were  trying  to  get 


MORE  MYSTERY  I47 

you  to  leave,"  she  said.  "I  suggested  it  because— 
well,  because  I  am  a  woman,  I  suppose.  You  deserve 
the  worst  that  can  happen  to  you.  But  a  woman 
has  a  kind  thought  now  and  then.  I  hate  to  see 
any  man  ground  down  and  down,  no  matter  how 
much  he  deserves  it — and  that  is  what  is  to  happen 
to  you  if  you  do  not  go  away.  If  you  leave,  your 
enemies  will  not  use  such  harsh  measures,  perhaps. 
But  when  you  are  here  before  their  very  eyes,  they 
will  lift  their  hands  against  you!" 

"Who  are  these  enemies,  and  why  are  they  after 
my  scalp?" 

"You  know,  Sidney  Prale,  as  well  as  I.  I  can 
see  that  it  is  useless  to  talk  to  you.  I  am  sorry  that 
I  had  a  moment's  compassion  and  made  the  attempt. 
Please  stop  the  cab  and  let  me  out  here." 

"But   I   demand   to  know " 

"Do  as  I  say,  or  I  shall  make  a  scene !" 

Prale  gave  the  signal,  and  the  taxi  stopped.  He 
helped  her  out,  and  she  started  briskly  down  the 
nearest  path.  Sidney  Prale  paid  the  chauffeur,  and 
started  to  follow. 

He  glanced  back,  and  saw  Murk  getting  out  of 
another  taxicab.  He  had  forgotten  Murk  in  his  in- 
terest in  the  conversation  with  Kate  Gilbert.  But 
Murk  had  not  forgotten.  Murk  had  his  orders,  and 
he  was  carrying  them  out;  he  was  keeping  in  sight, 
to  be  on  hand  if  he  was  needed. 

Murk  had  a  little  money  Prale  had  given  him, 
enough  to  pay  the  taxi  chauffeur.  Prale  motioned 
for  him  to  approach. 


148  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

"Here's  a  roll  of  bills,"  he  said.  "Keep  up  the 
game,  Murk.     Don't  get  too  far  away." 

"I'll  be  right  at  your  heels,  boss." 

"And  keep  your  eyes  open." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"That  woman  was  Kate  Gilbert." 

"Then  I'll  know  her  whenever  I  see  her  again,  sir.** 

Prale  hurried  on  down  the  path.  Murk  kept  pace 
with  him,  a  short  distance  behind. 

Kate  Gilbert  had  been  walking  swiftly.  She  had 
reached  the  street,  and,  as  Prale  watched,  she  crossed 
it.     Prale  followed. 

The  girl  did  not  look  behind.  She  came  to  the 
middle  of  the  block  and  ran  up  the  steps  of  an  apart- 
ment house.  Prale  passed  the  entrance,  glanced  at 
the  number,  and  continued  down  the  street.  At  the 
corner  he  allowed  Murk  to  catch  up  with  him. 

"She  turned  in  at  the  address  Jim  Farland  gave 
us,"  Prale  said.  "She  has  gone  home,  Murk.  I 
fancy  that  we  are  done  with  her  for  to-day!" 

A  lot  he  knew  about  it! 


CHAPTER  XV 

A   MOMENT    OF   VIOLENCE 

SIDNEY  PRALE  turned  around  and  walked  back 
along  the  street  to  the  Park,  Murk  once  more 
following  at  a  short  distance,  as  he  had  been  ordered 
to  do. 

Because  he  wanted  to  think  of  his  predicament, 
Prale  crossed  into  the  Park  and  began  following  one 
of  the  paths  toward  the  south,  making  his  way  along 
it  slowly,  paying  little  attention  to  the  persons  he 
passed  now  and  then. 

He  crossed  a  drive  and  followed  another  path; 
and  now  he  came  to  a  secluded  spot  where  the  path 
was  hidden  from  passers-by  on  the  other  walks  and 
drives.  Here  the  way  ran  through  a  tiny  gulch,  the 
sides  of  which  were  banked  with  bushes.  Squirrels 
scampered  and  birds  chattered  at  him,  but  Prale  saw 
none  of  them. 

He  was  trying  to  explain  to  himself  why  Kate  Gil- 
bert had  warned  him  to  leave  New  York,  why  she 
had  interested  herself  in  his  affairs  at  all,  asking 
himself  for  the  thousandth  time  what  species  of  net 
it  was  in  which  he  suddenly  had  found  himself  en- 
meshed without  knowing  the  reason  for  it. 

He  had  demanded  information  and  it  had  not 
been  given  him.  She  had  said  nothing  at  all  that 
gave  him  an  inkling  as  to  the  nature  of  what  seemed 


150  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

to  be  a  plot  against  him.  He  had  been  as  firm  as  he 
dared,  he  told  himself.  A  man  could  not  threaten  a 
woman,  could  not  use  violence  in  an  attempt  to  make 
her  speak  and  reveal  secrets. 

"We'll  have  to  work  from  another  corner,"  Sidney 
Prale  told  himself.  "I  can't  threaten  a  woman,  but 
I  can  pummel  a  man;  and  if  I  meet  George  Lerton 
again,  I  am  liable  to  forget  what  Jim  Farland  told 
me  and  use  my  own  methods." 

He  walked  on  through  the  tiny  ravine.  He  came 
to  a  cross  path,  and  a  man  lurched  down  it  and 
against  him. 

"Beg  pardon!"  Prale  murmured. 

"Wonder  you  wouldn't  look  where  you're  going!" 
the  other  exclaimed.  "Got  an  idea  you  own  the 
whole  Park,  or  something  like  that?  Men  like  you 
shouldn't  be  running  around  loose!" 

"You  ran  into  me,  not  I  into  you,"  Prale  reminded 
him. 

As  he  spoke,  he  looked  at  the  other  closely.  He 
saw  a  gigantic  man  who  had  the  general  appearance 
of  a  thug,  whose  chin  was  thrust  forward  aggres- 
sively, and  whose  hands  were  opening  and  closing  as 
if  he  wished  they  were  around  Sidney  Prale's  throat. 

"I've  a  notion  to  smash  you  one!"  the  fellow  said, 
advancing  toward  Prale  a  bit. 

Prale's  temper  flamed  at  once.  His  own  chin  was 
shot  forward,  and  his  own  hands  closed. 

"If  that  is  the  way  you  feel  about  it,  start  in!" 
Prale  said.  "Perhaps  I  can  teach  you  to  act  decently 
and  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head!" 

The  man  before  him  made  no  comment — he  sim- 


A  MOMENT  OF  VIOLENCE  151 

ply  launched  himself  forward  like  a  thunderbolt. 
Sidney  Prale  darted  quickly  to  one  side,  and  tossed 
his  hat  and  stick  on  the  ground.  He  did  not  have 
time  to  get  off  his  coat;  he  could  not  even  remove 
his  gloves. 

The  other,  missing  him  in  that  first  rush,  turned 
and  came  back,  swinging  his  fists.  Prale  did  not 
dart  aside  now.  He  put  himself  on  guard,  braced 
himself  against  the  side  of  the  little  gulch,  and  waited 
for  the  attack. 

They  clashed,  and  Prale  knew  that  he  had  a  real 
fight  on  his  hands,  for  the  man  who  had  attacked 
him  was  no  mean  antagonist.  But,  after  the  first  real 
clash,  Prale  had  no  fear  of  the  outcome.  The  man 
was  brutal,  but  he  had  no  skill.  He  delivered  blows 
that  would  have  felled  any  one — but  they  did  not 
reach  their  objective. 

Then  a  second  man  crashed  down  through  the 
brush  and  joined  in  the  attack.  Sidney  Prale  realized 
in  that  moment  that  the  attack  had  been  premeditated 
and  the  fight  forced  upon  him  purposely.  It  fed  fuel 
to  the  flames  of  his  wrath.  He  did  not  know  whether 
this  was  the  work  of  some  of  his  unknown  enemies 
or  whether  these  thugs  were  mere  robbers  intent 
upon  getting  his  wallet  and  watch.  It  made  little 
difference  to  him  which  they  were. 

With  his  back  against  the  side  of  the  gulch,  he 
fought  with  what  skill  he  could,  trying  to  stand  off 
both  of  them.  The  attack  had  come  with  a  rush, 
and  all  this  had  occupied  but  a  few  seconds. 

Presently  a  human  whirlwind  appeared  and  took 
part  in  the  battle.     There  was  an  angry  roar  from  a 


152  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

human  throat,  a  raucous  curse,  a  rushing  body,  the 
thuds  of  swift,  hard  blows.  Mr.  Murk  had  reached 
the  scene ! 

The  battle  immediately  became  two-fold.  Murk 
fought  as  these  thugs  fought,  disregarding  the  finer 
rules  of  combat,  seeking  only  to  put  his  opponent 
out,  no  matter  by  what  means.  Murk  was  not  un- 
accustomed to  fighting  of  that  character,  and  he  was 
doubly  formidable  now,  for  he  was  angry  at  the  at- 
tack on  Sidney  Prale.  Murk  had  been  too  far  away 
to  hear  what  had  been  said  when  the  trouble  started, 
but  he  had  seen,  and  he  guessed  immediately  that 
some  of  Sidney  Prale's  enemies  were  engaged  in  the 
attempt. 

Murk  went  after  his  opponent  with  determination 
if  not  with  skill.  He  fought  him  down  the  path, 
and  there  the  fellow  rallied  from  the  surprise  and 
rushed  back.  But  Murk  was  not  the  sort  to  give 
ground.  In  a  fight,  a  man  should  stand  up  to  an- 
other until  one  of  them  was  whipped,  Murk  thought. 

He  knew  how  to  give  blows,  but  not  how  to 
guard  against  them.  He  was  marked,  and  marked 
well,  before  the  battle  was  a  minute  old,  but  he  had 
the  satisfaction  of  seeing  blood  on  the  face  of  his 
antagonist.  Foot  to  foot  they  stood  and  hammered 
each  other,  and  gradually  Murk  began  wearing  the 
other  man  down. 

As  for  Sidney  Prale,  now  that  he  had  but  the  one 
thug  against  him,  he  fought  with  skill  and  cunning, 
knowing  that  the  other  was  a  bit  the  stronger,  but 
realizing  that  he  would  be  victor  if  he  used  reason- 
able care. 


A  MOMENT  OF  VIOLENCE  153 

His  flare  of  anger  had  passed,  and  now  he  was 
fighting  like  a  clever  pugilist.  He  warded  off  the 
other's  powerful  blows,  and  now  and  then  he 
slipped  beneath  a  guard,  or  smashed  his  way  through 
one,  and  sent  home  a  blow  of  his  own. 

At  the  end  of  three  minutes,  the  thugs  were  get- 
ting much  the  worst  of  it.  Gradually  they  were  be- 
ing fought  back  toward  the  nearest  driveway.  Back 
and  back  they  went,  but  did  not  turn  and  run.  Sid- 
ney Prale  sensed  that  they  were  fighting  for  money, 
that  they  were  being  paid  for  this  attack,  and  he 
realized  that,  but  for  the  presence  of  Murk,  he  would 
have  had  no  chance  whatever,  and  probably  would  be 
a  senseless,  bleeding  thing  now. 

None  of  them  knew  that  the  fight  had  attracted 
attention,  but  it  had.  Two  women,  coming  around 
a  curve  in  the  path,  had  seen  it,  and  had  run  back 
toward  the  nearest  driveway,  screeching.  Two 
mounted  policemen  hurried  toward  them,  heard  the 
story,  and  charged  down  the  path. 

The  two  thugs  made  no  effort  to  escape.  They 
stopped  fighting,  and  Prale  and  Murk  ceased  also, 
though  the  latter  was  eager  to  continue  until  a  de- 
cision had  been  rendered.  Murk  had  fought  often 
where  there  was  no  interference  and  he  disliked  to 
be  bothered  now,  but  he  desisted  at  Prale's  command. 

"Well,  what's  all  this  about?"  one  of  the  officers 
demanded.  He  did  not  address  any  of  them  par- 
ticularly. *T  was  walking  along  the  path,  and  these 
men  attacked  me,"  Sidney  Prale  said.  "My  valet 
was  a  short  distance  behind  and  he  came  to  my  as- 
sistance.    I  never  saw  these  fellows  before." 


154  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

**Nothin'  like  it!"  one  of  the  thugs  snarled.  "Me 
and  my  pal  were  walkin'  along  this  path  and  met 
these  men,  and  the  one  with  the  stick  ordered  us  out 
of  the  way  as  if  we  were  dogs.  When  we  didn't 
move  quick  enough,  they  jumped  into  us." 

"That's  a  lie "  Murk  began. 

"You  can  settle  this  at  the  station,"  the  officer 
replied.     "All  of  you  come  along  with  us!" 

Prale  picked  up  his  hat  and  stick,  took  off  his  torn 
gloves  and  threw  them  away,  and  motioned  for 
Murk  to  walk  at  his  side  and  to  keep  quiet.  They 
went  to  the  driveway  and  along  it,  the  policemen 
watching  the  four  of  them  closely,  the  thugs  growl- 
ing to  each  other  and  remarking  that  it  was  a  fine 
day  when  honest  workingmen  could  not  stroll  in 
Central  Park  without  a  dude  and  his  valet  trying  to 
beat  them  up. 

There  was  a  short  wait  when  the  station  was 
reached,  and  then,  at  the  lieutenant's  command,  one 
of  the  thugs  poured  forth  his  story.  He  gave  his 
name  and  address,  as  did  the  other,  and  both  made 
the  statement  that  they  were  out  of  work  at  present. 

Prale  stepped  forward  and  gave  his  name.  The 
lieutenant  stared  at  him  in  surprise. 

"Why,  it's  the  guy  who  croaked  that  man  Shep- 
ley!"  one  of  the  thugs  cried.  "There  ought  to  be  a 
way  of  stoppin'  him  runnin'  around  and  assaultin* 
and  killin*  folks.     If  it  hadn't  been  for  the  cops " 

"Shut  up!"  Sidney  Prale  commanded  loudly,  ig- 
noring the  presence  of  the  officers.  "You  fellows 
made  a  deliberate  attack  on  me  and  you  know  it. 


A  MOMENT  OF  VIOLENCE  155 

And  I  want  to  know  who  paid  you  to  do  it — under- 
stand?" 

"You're  crazy!"  said  one  of  the  thugs. 

Prale  turned  to  the  lieutenant.  "I'd  like  to  have 
Jim  Farland  sent  for,"  he  said.  "He  has  been 
handling  things  for  me.  I  want  him  to  investigate 
these  men.  I  have  an  idea  that  the  names  and  ad- 
dresses they  gave  are  fictitious.  Recently  enemies  of 
mine  have  caused  me  considerable  trouble,  and  I  feel 
sure  that  these  men  were  hired  to  attack  me.  For- 
tunately, my  valet  was  walking  a  short  distance  be- 
hind me,  and  rushed  up  and  helped  me  hold  them 
off." 

"I'm  ready  to  put  up  bail,  and  so  is  my  pal!"  said 
one  of  the  thugs  angrily. 

"In  that  case,  I'll  have  to  let  you  go  for  the  pres- 
ent," the  lieutenant  said.  "The  charge  is  fighting 
and  disorderly  conduct,  and  bail  will  be  one  hundred 
dollars  in  each  case.  You  may  use  the  telephone  if 
you  wish,  Mr.  Prale." 

Prale  hurried  to  the  telephone,  called  Jim  Farland's 
office,  and  was  informed  that  Farland  had  not  been 
there,  and  that  the  girl  in  charge  did  not  know  where 
he  was,  or  what  he  was  doing,  or  when  he  would 
return.  Prale  left  instructions  for  Farland  and  went 
back  to  the  desk. 

"This  is  a  serious  business,  though  it  may  not 
look  like  it  on  the  face,"  he  said.  "I'd  like  to  have 
these  men  held  until  we  can  make  sure  they  have 
given  correct  names  and  addresses." 

"No  use  holding  them  if  they  have  given  bail,"  the 


156  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

lieutenant  replied.  "I  think  it's  nothing  but  a  regular 
scrap.     You  can  talk  to  the  judge  later,  all  of  you." 

Prale  took  a  roll  of  bills  from  his  pocket  and  put 
up  cash  bail  for  both  Murk  and  himself.  One  of 
the  thugs  followed  suit  and  pulling  out  a  roll  of  bills, 
stripped  off  two  hundred  dollars,  and  arranged  for 
the  release  of  himself  and  his  partner. 

"You  seem  to  have  a  lot  of  money  for  men  who 
are  out  of  work,"  Prale  said. 

"Been  savin'  it,  and  it's  none  of  your  business 
anyway,"  growled  the  other. 

They  started  toward  the  door,  and  Prale  and  Murk 
followed  them,  watched  them  until  they  started  away, 
and  then  turned  back  to  bathe  their  faces  and  hands. 
Then  Prale  got  a  taxicab,  and  drove  to  the  office  of 
a  physician,  who  did  his  best  to  make  the  counte- 
nances of  Prale  and  Murk  presentable. 

It  was  an  hour  later  when  Jim  Farland  called  Prale 
by  telephone  at  the  hotel. 

"I've  investigated  that  little  matter,  Sid,"  he  re- 
ported. "Those  fellows  gave  fictitious  addresses,  as 
you  supposed  they  had  done,  and  it  is  an  even  bet 
that  the  names  they  gave  were  fictitious,  too.  No 
doubt  about  it,  Sid — they  were  hired  to  get  you. 
You'd  better  be  on  guard  and  a  bit  careful." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

MURK    RECEIVES    A    BLOW 

AN  hour  before  dinner,  Detective  Jim  Farland 
suddenly  appeared  in  Sidney  Prale's  suite  at  the 
hotel. 

"They  are  working  on  me  now,  Sid,"  he  said.  "I 
got  a  telephone  message  when  I  was  in  the  office, 
and  the  gent  at  the  other  end  of  the  line  informed 
me  that  it  would  be  beneficial  to  my  health  if  I  im- 
mediately ceased  having  anything  to  do  with  the 
Rufus  Shepley  murder  case  and  stopped  working  for 
you." 

"Any  idea  where  the  message  came  from?"  Prale 
asked. 

"It  came  from  a  public  pay  station  in  the  subway. 
I  had  the  call  traced  immediately,  of  course.  No 
chance  of  finding  out  who  sent  it,  naturally.  I  doubt 
whether  I'd  recognize  the  voice  if  I  heard  it  again — - 
could  tell  by  the  way  the  fellow  talked  that  he  was 
trying  to  disguise  his  tones.  I  told  him  to  go  to 
blazes,  and  he  informed  me  that  I  was  up  against 
something  too  big  for  a  man  to  face,  or  something 
like  that." 

"Jim,  if  there  is  any  danger,  I  don't  want  you  to 
work  for  me,"  Sidney  Prale  said.  "You're  married 
and  a  father  and " 

"And  that  will  be  about  all  from  you,  Sid!"  Far- 


158  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

land  interrupted.  "Think  I'm  going  to  let  some  man 
who  doesn't  tell  me  his  name  throw  a  scare  into  me  ?" 

"But,  if  there  is  danger " 

"I  thrive  on  danger,"  said  Jim  Farland.  "Think 
I'm  going  to  desert  you  at  this  stage  of  the  game? 
That  is  what  they  want,  of  course.  If  I  did,  you'd 
probably  hire  another  detective,  and  it  might  be  one 
of  their  own  men — whoever  they  are.  I'm  in  this 
game  to  stay,  Sid,  first  because  you  are  an  old  friend 
of  mine  and  I  think  you  are  being  made  the  victim 
of  some  sort  of  a  dirty  deal,  and  also  because  I'm 
not  the  kind  of  man  to  be  bluffed  out  of  a  job.  We 
are  going  right  ahead.  I  got  a  note  at  the  office, 
too." 

"A  note!"  Prale  gasped. 

"Typewritten,  but  not*  on  Greorge  Lerton's  battered 
typewriter  this  time.  It  remarked  that  unless  I  gave 
up  this  case,  somebody  would  make  things  hard  for 
me,  or  words  to  that  effect.  Old  stuff!  If  they  are 
so  scared  that  they  send  threatening  letters,  they're 
whipped  right  now — ^and  they  know  it !" 

"I  had  an  interesting  experience  this  afternoon," 
said  Prale. 

"The  fight?" 

"I  don't  mean  that.  I  met  Kate  Gilbert  in  front  of 
the  library.  She  asked  me  to  get  a  taxicab  and  drive 
her  through  the  Park.  I  did  it.  She  begged  me  to 
leave  New  York  and  remain  away,  and  said  that  my 
enemies  might  not  be  so  harsh  if  I  did.  I  tried  to 
get  her  to  explain,  and  she  insisted  that  I  knew  all 
there  was  to  know.  She  left  the  taxicab  and  walked 
to  her  home.*' 


MURK  RECEIVES  A  BLOW  159 

"I'll  have  to  investigate  that  girl  more  thoroughly/* 
Farland  said. 

"She  is  on  guard  now,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

"Does  she  know  Murk  by  sight?" 

"I  think  not." 

"Then  here  is  where  Murk  gets  a  steady  job  for  a 
time,"  Jim  Farland  declared.  "Murk,  you  go  up  to 
Kate  Gilbert's  home  and  watch  a  bit.  Give  him 
plenty  of  money,  Sid,  for  expenses.  Just  see  if  she 
leaves  the  place,  Murk,  and  if  so,  where  she  goes,  and 
to  whom  she  talks.  Get  any  general  information  you 
can.  Try  to  keep  her  from  knowing  that  you  are 
watching  her,  but  if  she  finds  it  out  drop  the  chase 
and  get  back  here,  and  we'll  put  another  shadow  on 
the  job.  When  you  are  sure  that  she  has  decided  to 
remain  in  her  apartment  for  the  night,  report  back 
here  to  Mr.  Prale." 

"You  watch  me,"  Murk  said.  "I  never  expected 
to  be  caught  doin'  detective  work  and  I  reckon  it's 
somethin'  like  a  disgrace,  but  this  is  a  sort  of  special 
occasion." 

Prale  gave  Murk  more  money,  in  case  he  would 
have  to  engage  taxicabs  or  follow  Kate  Gilbert  where 
money  would  be  necessary  for  tips  and  bribes. 

"Your  face  looks  pretty  good,  but  you  want  to 
remember  that  there  are  some  marks  on  it,"  Prale 
told  him. 

"It's  looked  worse,  boss,"  Murk  replied,  grinning. 
"I'll  try  to  do  this  thing  right." 

Murk  hurried  down  in  the  elevator  and  went  from 
the  hotel.  He  got  a  cab  immediately,  and  promised 
that  dire  things  would  happen  to  the  chauffeur  if  he 


i6o  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

did  not  get  to  a  certain  corner  up  beside  the  Park  in 
record  time.  Jim  Farland  iiad  given  him  a  badge  to 
be  used  if  he  was  questioned  by  a  police  officer,  and 
he  was  to  say  that  he  was  an  operative  attached  to 
Farland's  office. 

Murk  discharged  the  taxi  at  the  proper  corner, 
touched  match  to  cigarette,  and  walked  slowly  down 
the  street  toward  the  apartment  house  where  Kate 
Gilbert  lived  with  her  father  and  her  maid. 

Jim  Farland  had  told  him  the  location  of  the  Gil- 
bert apartment,  and  Murk  saw  that  the  lights  in  it 
were  burning.  It  was  about  time  for  dinner,  he 
knew. 

He  went  to  a  drug  store  on  the  nearest  corner  and 
hurried  into  a  telephone  booth.  He  called  the  apart- 
ment house  and  asked  to  be  connected  with  the  Gil- 
berts. A  woman's  hoarse  voice  answered  his  call,  and 
he  guessed  that  it  was  the  maid  speaking. 

"Miss  Kate  Gilbert  there?"  Murk  asked. 

*'Who  is  calling,  please?" 

"Tell  her  it  is  about  that  Prale  affair,"  Murk  re- 
plied. 

"One  moment.    I'll  call  her." 

Kate  Gilbert's  voice  came  to  him  over  the  wire 
almost  immediately. 

"Miss  Gilbert?"  Murk  asked.  "I  was  to  tell  you 
that " 

And  then  Murk  jerked  down  the  receiver  hook, 
and  grinned  as  he  put  the  receiver  on  it.  Kate  Gil- 
bert would  believe  that  a  careless  central  girl  had  cut 
them  off  and  put  an  end  to  the  conversation. 

He  had  learned  what  he  had  wished  to  learn — 


MURK  RECEIVES  A  BLOW  i6i 

that  Kate  Gilbert  was  at  home.  He  walked  back  up 
the  street.  All  he  had  to  do  now  was  to  watch,  and 
if  Kate  Gilbert  left  the  place  follow  her.  If  she  did 
not,  Murk  would  wait  half  an  hour  or  so  after  the 
lights  in  the  apartment  were  turned  out,  to  be  sure 
that  she  had  retired,  and  then  would  hurry  back  to 
the  hotel. 

Murk  watched  from  a  distance  at  first,  and  then 
went  slowly  forward,  for  he  did  not  wish  to  attract 
attention  by  remaining  in  one  position  too  long. 
There  were  few  persons  on  the  block;  and  now  and 
then  some  automobile  or  taxicab  would  discharge  a 
passenger  and  go  on.  Murk  made  his  way  slowly  to 
the  end  of  the  block,  always  watching  the  entrance  of 
the  apartment  house,  crossed  the  street,  and  started 
back  on  the  other  side. 

He  came  in  front  of  a  dark  passageway  between 
two  buildings,  and  went  on.  And  out  of  the  mouth 
of  that  dark  passageway  came  a  blow  that  caused 
Murk  to  groan  once  and  topple  forward.  Hands 
gripped  his  unconscious  body  and  drew  him  back  into 
the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

MURK      IS      TEMPTED 

THE  next  thing  that  impressed  itself  upon  Murk's 
consciousness  was  the  fact  that  he  had  a  terrific 
pain  in  the  back  of  his  head.  Many  times  during  his 
career  Murk  had  experienced  similar  pains.  And  he 
knew  that  the  best  thing  to  do  was  to  remain  quiet 
for  a  short  time,  keep  his  eyes  closed,  and  gradually 
pull  himself  together. 

So  he  pretended  that  he  had  not  regained  con- 
sciousness. He  knew  that  he  had  been  stretched 
upon  a  bed  or  couch  of  some  sort,  and  that  his 
wrists  were  lashed  together,  and  his  ankles.  He  was 
not  gagged,  however. 

Gradually  the  pain  ceased,  Murk's  senses  cleared 
and  he  became  aware  of  what  was  going  on  around 
him.  He  could  hear  whispered  voices,  but  could  not 
distinguish  words  and  sentences;  neither  could  he  tell 
whether  the  voices  were  those  of  men  or  women. 

Finally  Murk  opened  his  eyes. 

He  found  that  he  was  in  a  small  room  furnished 
In  quite  an  ordinary  manner.  He  was  stretched  on 
an  old-fashioned  sofa.  There  were  a  few  chairs 
scattered  about,  and  a  cupboard  in  one  corner.  In 
the  middle  of  the  room  was  an  ordinary  table  cov- 
ered with  a  red  cloth.  Upon  the  table  a  kerosene 
lamp  was  burning. 


MURK  IS  TEMPTED  163 

Murk  groaned  and  made  an  attempt  to  sit  up,  but 
fell  back  again  because  of  a  fit  of  dizziness.  It  be- 
came evident  that  his  groan  had  been  heard  in  the 
room  adjoining,  for  the  door,  which  had  been  ajar, 
now  was  thrown  open  wide,  and  two  men  entered. 

'Murk  knew  them  instantly;  they  were  the  men 
who  had  attacked  Sidney  Prale  in  the  Park. 

"Back  to  earth,  are  you?"  one  of  them  snarled. 
*'If  I  had  my  way,  you'd  have  been  cracked  on  the 
head  for  good." 

Murk  snarled  in  reply,  despite  the  fact  that  he  was 
bound  and  at  the  mercy  of  these  men. 

"Sore  because  I  smashed  your  face!"  Murk  said. 

"That'll  be  about  all  out  of  you!  I  may  take  a 
smash  at  you  yet!" 

"You've  got  a  good  chance  while  my  hands  and 
feet  are  tied,"  Murk  replied.  "It's  the  only  time  you 
could  get  away  with  it,  all  right !  Turn  me  loose  and 
I  can  clean  up  the  two  of  you!" 

"You're  not  doin'  any  cleanin'  for  the  present,"  he 
was  told. 

Murk  began  wondering  at  the  object  of  the  assault 
upon  him.  He  could  feel  the  roll  of  bills  Prale  had 
given  him  bulging  his  vest  pocket,  so  he  guessed  rob- 
bery was  not  the  motive.  He  managed  to  sit  up  on 
the  sofa  now,  and  he  glared  at  the  two  thugs  before 
him  with  right  good  will. 

One  of  the  men  went  back  into  the  adjoining 
room,  and  the  other  remained  standing  before  Murk, 
sneering  at  him*,  his  hands  opening  and  closing  as  if 
he  would  take  Murk's  throat  in  them  and  choke  the 
life  out  of  Sidney  Prale's  valet  and  comrade  in  arms. 


i64  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

Then  the  man  who  had  left  the  room  returned,  and 
there  was  another  with  him.  Murk  looked  at  this 
stranger  with  sudden  interest.  He  was  well  dressed, 
Murk  could  see,  but  he  wore  an  ulster  that  had  the 
wide  collar  turned  up  around  his  neck,  and  he  had  a 
mask  on  his  face — a  home-made  mask  that  was  noth- 
ing more  than  a  handkerchief  with  eye  slits  cut  in  it. 

"Afraid  to  show  yourself,  are  you?"  Murk  sneered. 
"Who  are  you — the  chief  thug?" 

The  masked  man  pulled  a  chair  up  before  the  sofa 
and  sat  down.  His  eyes  glittered  at  Murk  through 
the  slits  in  the  handkerchief. 

"You  are  not  going  to  be  harmed,  my  man — if  you 
are  reasonable,"  he  said. 

"Reasonable  about  what?"  Murk  demanded. 

"We  want  some  information  and  we  think  you  can 
give  it  to  us;  that  is  all." 

"I  don't  know  much,"  said  Murk. 

"Tell  us  why  you  were  prowling  around  that  house 
near  the  Park." 

"Maybe  I  was  takin'  a  walk,"  Murk  answered. 

"And  maybe  you  were  spying,  as  I  happen  to 
know  you  were.  We  assume  that  Sidney  Prale  sent 
you  to  watch  the  comings  and  goings  of  a  certain 
young  woman  and  her  friends." 

"Go  right  ahead  assumin*." 

"It  will  avail  you  nothing,  my  man,  to  adopt  this 
attitude,"  Murk  was  told.  "And  it  might  help  you 
a  great  deal  if  you  are  willing  to  listen  to  reason." 

"I'm  listenin',"  Murk  replied. 

"You  haven't  been  working  for  Sidney  Prale  very 
long,  have  you?" 


MURK  IS  TEMPTED  165 

"Only  a  few  days — since  you  seem  to  know  all 
about  it,  anyway.     Why  ask  foolish  questions?" 

"Very  well.  We  understand  that  Prale  kept  you 
from  committing  suicide  and  then  gave  you  a  job. 
There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  feel  an  over- 
whelming gratitude  for  Prale.  He  merely  got  a 
valet  cheap." 

"What  about  it?"  Murk  growled. 

"Sidney  Prale  has  a  million  dollars,  but  you'll 
never  see  much  of  it.  He  isn't  the  sort  of  man  to 
toss  his  money  away.  And  there  are  others,  not  par- 
ticularly Prale's  friends,  who  have  many  millions  be- 
tween them  " 

"Well,  that  ain't  doin'  me  much  good." 

"But  it  may  do  you  a  lot  of  good.  We  want  in- 
formation and  we  stand  ready  to  pay  for  it." 

"I  guess  you'll  have  to  do  a  little  explainin'," 
Murk  told  him.  "I  never  was  any  good  at  guessin' 
riddles.  Life's  too  short  to  be  spent  workin'  out  silly 
puzzles." 

"Very  well,"  the  masked  man  said,  "As  you  per- 
haps are  aware,  Prale  has  certain  enemies.  That  is 
enough  for  you  to  know,  if  he  has  not  told  you 
more.  If  you  can  give  me  information  concerning 
Sidney  Prale's  plans,  and  tell  us  how  much  he 
knows,  we  will  pay  you  handsomely." 

"I  getcha,"  Murk  said. 

"And  if  you  can  manage  to  continue  working  for 
Prale,  and  let  us  know  everything  as  it  comes  up, 
there'll  be  considerably  more  in  it  for  you." 

"Want  me  to  do  the  spy  act,  do  you  ?" 


i66  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

"Call  it  whatever  you  like.  There  is  a  chance  for 
you  to  earn  some  good  money." 

"How  much?"  Murk  demanded, 

"That  depends  upon  the  services  you  render  us. 
But  let  me  assure  you  that  you  will  be  richly  re- 
warded.   We  will  not  fool  you  or  defraud  you." 

"What  do  you  want  to  know?'' 

"What  is  Jim  Farland,  the  detective,  doing?  What 
has  he  reported  to  Prale?" 

"He  ain't  reported  much  of  anything,"  said  Murk. 

"We  want  to  know  what  Prale  thinks  about  the 
situation.  Tell  us  all  you  know  concerning  the  Rufus 
Shepley  murder  case.  Has  Sidney  Prale  said  any- 
thing you  have  been  able  to  hear  about  the  enemies 
who  are  bothering  him?  You  understand  what  we 
want  to  know — everything  possible  about  Prale's 
plans.  And  we  want  you  to  watch  henceforth,  and 
keep  us  informed  in  a  way  I  shall  explain  to  you." 

"Well,  explain  it!"  said  Murk. 

"Scarcely,  until  we  know  that  you  are  our  man. 
Try  to  think  of  things  now,  and  tell  us.  Be  sure 
you  let  us  have  everything.  What  you  deem  unim- 
portant may  be  really  important  to  us." 

"I'd  feel  a  lot  more  friendly  to  you  gents  if  you'd 
untie  me,"  said  Murk.  "I  can't  talk  business  when 
I'm  treated  like  a  prisoner,  or  somethin'  like  that." 

"You'll  be  untied  as  soon  as  we  feel  sure  of  you, 
and  not  before,"  Murk  was  told.  "We  are  not  tak- 
ing chances  with  you.  Are  you  going  to  work  for 
us?" 

"I'm  not  sure  that  the  proposition  looks  good  to 
me,"  Murk  said.     "I  make  a  deal  with  a  man  whose 


MURK  IS  TEMPTED  167 

face  I  can't  see,  and  do  the  dirty  work — ^and  then 
maybe  you  turn  me  down  cold  and  don't  give  me  a 
cent,  and  I  lose  my  job  with  Mr,  Prale  and  get  in  a 
nice  fix.  Don't  you  suppose  I  got  some  common 
sense  ?" 

"Make  the  deal  with  us,  and  you  shall  have  five 
hundred  dollars  in  cash  before  you  leave  this  room," 
the  masked  man  promised.  "And,  take  my  word  for 
it,  you'll  be  rewarded  richly  if  you  serve  us  well." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  much  about  this  business," 
Murk  said.  "You  know  I  ain't  been  with  Mr.  Prale 
very  long.  All  I  know  is  that  he's  got  some  enemies 
who  are  try  in'  to  get  the  best  of  him.  He  says  he 
ain't  guilty  of  that  murder  charge,  and  I  happen  to 
know  he  ain't,  because  he  was  with  me  when  Shepley 
was  killed." 

"Maybe  you  both  had  a  hand  in  the  killing,"  the 
masked  man  said.  "And  if  you  don't  come  to  terms 
with  us,  you  may  find  yourself  in  jail  charged  with 
being  an  accessory." 

"You  can't  bluff  me,  and  you  can't  threaten  me  and 
get  away  with  it!"  Murk  cried. 

"Softly — softly!"  said  the  masked  man.  "I  was 
merely  showing  you  where  you  stand." 

"Well,  don't  start  talkin'  to  me  that  way,  if  you 
want  to  do  business  with  me.  If  I'm  goin'  to  work 
for  you,  I've  got  to  know  what's  what.  Who's  got 
it  in  for  Mr.  Prale,  and  why?  That's  what  I  want 
to  know.  And  what  is  it  you're  tryin'  to  do  to  him? 
How  can  I  help  if  I  ain't  wise?" 

"Some  of  the  wealthiest  and  most  influential  men 


i68  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

in  the  city  are  against  Sidney  Prale.  They  are  de- 
termined to  run  him  away  from  this,  his  old  home 
town.  They  are  going  to  strip  him  of  his  fortune  if 
they  can.  They  are  going  to  grind  him  down  until 
he  is  nothing  better  than  a  tramp." 

"Well,  why  are  they  goin'  to  do  all  this?" 

*Tt  is  not  necessary  for  you  to  know  at  present. 
Perhaps  you  will  learn  that  from  Sidney  Prale,  if 
you  keep  your  ears  and  eyes  open.  All  we  want  you 
to  do  is  to  watch  and  listen  and  make  frequent  re- 
ports to  us.  You'll  have  to  be  loyal  to  us,  of  course. 
If  you  are  not,  we  shall  punish  you." 

"But  what  did  Mr.  Prale  ever  do  to  get  such  a 
bunch  down  on  him?"  Murk  demanded. 

"You'll  find  that  out  in  time — maybe." 

*'I  guess  I'd  better  know  right  now." 

"It  is  not  necessary.  Besides,  we  are  not  sure  of 
you  yet,  please  remember." 

"How  could  you  ever  be  sure  of  me?"  Murk  cried. 
"If  I  threw  down  Mr.  Prale,  wouldn't  I  be  liable  to 
throw  you  down,  if  somebody  happened  along  and 
raised  the  price?  Why,  you  simp,  I  wouldn't  turn 
against  Mr,  Prale  for  a  million  dollars !  He's  treated 
me  decent,  and  he  was  the  first  man  who  ever  did 
that!  I  was  just  stringin'  you,  you  fool!  Mr.  Prale 
himself  don't  know  why  your  gang  is  causin*  him 
trouble,  and  I  was  tryin'  to  pump  you  and  find  out !" 

"So  he  has  told  you  that  he  doesn't  know  why  he 
has  enemies?" 

"He  has — and  he  told  the  truth.  There's  some- 
thing   phony    about    that    murder    case;    somebody's 


MURK  IS  TEMPTED  169 

tryin'  to  frame  him.  And  when  Jim  Farland  gets 
through,  somebody  is  goin'  to  jail!" 

"So  you  will  not  work  for  us?" 

"You're  right;  I  won't.  Maybe  I  don't  amount  to 
much,  but  I'm  mighty  square  compared  to  some  peo- 
ple I  know  about." 

"And  what  do  you  suppose  is  going  to  become  of 
you,  if  you  refuse  to  do  as  I  say?" 

"I  guess  I'll  manage  to  struggle  along,"  Murk  said. 

"We'll  see  about  that!"  the  masked  man  replied, 
getting  up  from  the  chair.  "Perhaps  a  night  spent 
in  your  present  position,  without  food  or  water,  will 
cause  you  to  change  your  mind.  If  it  does  not,  there 
are  other  methods  that  can  be  used." 

"Goin'  to  pull  rough  stuff,  are  you?"  Murk  sneered. 
"Go  as  far  as  you  like!  You  can  manhandle  me,  but 
you  can't  make  me  turn  against  Sidney  Prale.  That's 
a  golden  little  thought  for  to-day,  as  the  preacher 
says." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A      woman's      way 

THE  masked  man  stepped  forward,  snarling  behind 
his  mask,  his  hands  closing,  and  the  two  thugs 
stepped  forward  also,  as  if  to  use  Murk  roughly  if 
the  other  gave  the  command. 

But  there  was  an  interruption.  Kate  Gilbert  came 
in  from  the  adjoining  room. 

The  masked  man  whirled  to  meet  her. 

"You  should  not "  he  began. 

"It  makes  no  difference,"  Kate  Gilbert  said.  "This 
man  knows  me,  or  he  would  not  have  been  set  to 
spying  on  me.  Sidney  Prale  knows  that  I  am  asso- 
ciated with  his  enemies,  since  I  was  talking  to  him 
to-day.    It  is  not  necessary  for  me  to  mask  my  face !" 

"It  really  was  not  necessary  for  you  to  come,"  said 
the  masked  man.  "This  fellow  refuses  to  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  us." 

"I  cannot  blame  him.  You  used  violence  to  get 
him  here.  I  am  afraid  that  I  should  refuse  to  have 
business  relations  with  a  man  who  knocked  me  on  the 
head." 

"It  was  the  only  way.  We  couldn't  approach  him 
on  the  street  very  well.  We  have  him  here  now  and 
perhaps  may  be  able  to  force  him  to  see  the  light." 

"I  shall  not  countenance  more  violence!"  Kate  Gil- 
bert said.     "I  told  you  in  the  beginning  that  force 


A  WOMAN'S  WAY  171 

was  not  to  be  used.  This  man  is  not  to  be  blamed  in 
any  way.  He  merely  is  an  employee  of  the  man  we 
are  fighting." 

"I  think  it  justifiable  to  use  any  method  that  will 
get  results,"  the  masked  man  told  her.  "You  seem 
to  forget " 

"I  do  not  forget!"  Kate  Gilbert  cried.  "Who  has 
a  better  right  to  hope  to  see  Sidney  Prale  punished? 
Who  has  suffered  more  than  I  and  mine?  But  I  do 
not  wish  to  see  violence  used.  This  man  may  be 
made  to  help  us,  but  I  fear  you  have  taken  the 
wrong  method.  And  what  do  you  intend  doing 
now?" 

"Perhaps  it  will  be  as  well  for  you  to  return  home 
and  allow  us  to  handle  this  part  of  the  afifair,"  the 
masked  man  told  her.  "No  woman  likes  violence,  of 
course,  but  at  times  it  is  necessary.  We  are  going 
to  leave  him  here  to-night  to  think  things  over.  He 
will  be  stifif  and  sore  and  hungry  in  the  morning." 

"But "  Kate  Gilbert  protested. 

"It  is  the  better  way,  I  assure  you — and  quite 
necessary.  This  thing  is  so  big  that  it  must  be 
handled  with  firmness  and  decision.  You  have  aided 
us  greatly,  but  I  think  it  will  be  a  mistake  to  let  you 
take  command  of  the  situation." 

Kate  Gilbert's  eyes  flashed  angrily,  and  her  face 
flushed. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  she  said.  "But  let  me  talk  to  this 
man  alone.  Perhaps  common  sense  and  kindness  will 
prevail  where  violence  did  not.     I  sincerely  hope  so." 

"I  am  willing  to  let  you  talk  to  him,  but  you  are 
to   be   guarded   in   your   speech.      Tell  him    nothing 


172  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

about  the  real  affair;  we  want  to  be  sure  of  him  be- 
fore we  take  him  fully  into  our  confidence.  All  we 
wish  him  to  do  is  to  keep  us  informed  about  Prale 
and  Jim  Farland,  and  any  others  who  may  be  helping 
Prale." 

"I  understand,  and  I  am  not  quite  a  fool!"  Kate 
Gilbert  told  him,  still  angry. 

The  masked  man  motioned  the  two  thugs  out  of 
the  room,  and  then  followed  them,  closing  the  door 
behind  him.  Kate  Gilbert  sat  down  in  the  chair  be- 
fore the  sofa,  and  looked  at  Murk. 

"First,  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  blow  you  received,"  she  said.  "That  was 
going  a  bit  too  far.  I  knew  nothing  of  it  until  I 
received  a  telephone  message  saying  that  you  were 
spying  on  the  place  where  I  live,  and  that  you  had 
been  captured  and  brought  here." 

"I  understand  that,  lady,"  Murk  replied. 

"I  know  that  you  have  been  with  Mr.  Prale  only  a 
few  days.  If  he  were  in  your  place  now,  I  might  be 
inclined  to  turn  my  back  and  let  those  men  handle 
him.  But  you  are  not  to  be  blamed  for  the  faults  of 
your  employer." 

"No,  ma'am,"  said  Murk. 

**I  am  going  to  tell  you  only  this  much:  Sidney 
Prale  committed  a  great  wrong  against  several  per- 
sons. Those  persons  have  banded  together  to  have 
vengeance.  Sidney  Prale  deserves  everything  that 
can  happen  to  him." 

"I  think  you've  got  him  wrong,  ma'am,"  said 
Murk.  "He's  even  accused  of  murder,  and  I  know 
he  ain't  guilty." 


A  WOMAN'S  WAY  173 

"Neither  do  I  believe  that  he  is  guilty  of  that 
crime,  but  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  this  other 
affair.  The  persons  who  are  banded  together  against 
Sidney  Prale  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  murder 
charge,  I  am  sure." 

"I  reckon  he'll  be  glad  to  know  that.  But  you've 
got  him  wrong  in  this  other  thing,  lady.  Mr.  Prale 
is  worried  almost  to  death  because  he  don't  know 
who  his  enemies  are,  or  why  they  are  causin'  him  a 
lot  of  trouble." 

"He  has  led  you  to  believe  that?"  she  asked. 

"I  know  he's  tellin'  the  truth,  ma'am.  He's  got 
a  detective  workin'  tryin'  to  find  out  what  it  all 
means." 

"Then  he  is  fooling  you,  and  the  detective  also. 
Sidney  Prale  knows  who  his  enemies  are,  and  why 
they  are  troubling  him.  He  tried  to  tell  me  that  he 
did  not  know,  and  almost  in  the  same  breath  he  told 
me  something  that  convinced  me  he  did  know.  You 
have  received  an  offer  to  help  us.     Are  you  willing?" 

"I  don't  intend  to  turn  against  Mr.  Prale!"  Murk 
declared.  "I  ain't  a  man  like  that!  These  gents  can 
keep  me  here  and  starve  me  and  beat  me  up,  and 
that's  all  the  good  it'll  do  'em.  I  know  a  man  when 
I  see  one,  and  Mr.  Prale's  a  man,  and  a  square  man, 
and  I'm  goin'  to  stand  by  him!" 

"He  has  fooled  you!  You  do  not  know  him  for 
the  scoundrel  that  he  is." 

"Maybe  it's  you  that's  bein'  fooled,  lady." 

"No.     If  you  knew  all,  you  would  understand." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  tell  me,  then?  If  you  prove 
to  me  that  Mr.  Prale  is  a  crook  or  somethin',  and 


174  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

that  you  people  ain't,  maybe  I'll  change  my  mind 
about  some  things." 

"I  can  tell  you  nothing  now,  except  that  I  am 
right  and  that  Sidney  Prale  is  fooling  you,"  Kate 
Gilbert  said. 

"Then  I'll  stay  right  here  and  take  my  beatin'  at 
the  hands  of  them  thugs." 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  she  said.  "I 
will  not  see  them  use  violence  toward  you." 

"I  don't  see  how  you're  goin'  to  help  it,  ma'am." 

**I  am  going  to  have  you  released.  You  may  re- 
turn to  Sidney  Prale  and  tell  him  that  we  intend  to 
punish  him,  but  that  I,  for  one,  will  not  resort  to  vio- 
lence. He  may  fight  unfairly,  but  we  do  not."  She 
lowered  her  voice  and  bent  toward  him,  "I'll  attract 
their  attention,  and  send  my  maid  to  release  you,"  she 
said,     "Remain  where  you  are." 

"Yes'm," 

Without  another  word,  Kate  Gilbert  got  up  and 
left  the  room,  closing  the  door  behind  her.  In  the 
other  room  were  the  masked  man,  the  two  thugs,  and 
Marie,  the  maid. 

"I  have  talked  to  him,  and  I  have  a  plan,"  Kate 
Gilbert  told  the  others.  "Marie,  I  wish  you  to  do 
something  for  me.  Take  the  taxicab  and  go  on  the 
errand,  and  after  I  am  done  here  I  will  go  home  in 
another  car." 

She  stepped  across  to  the  maid  and  gave  her  whis- 
pered instructions,  while  the  men  waited,  Marie  left 
the  room,  walked  through  the  hall,  and  left  the  house. 
Kate  Gilbert  sat  down  at  the  table  and  called  the 
others  to  her. 


A  WOMAN'S  WAY  175 

"That  man  is  loyal  to  Prale,"  she  explained.  "Prale 
has  fooled  him.  He  honestly  believes  that  Prale  does 
not  know  his  enemies  or  why  he  is  being  bothered, 
and  he  is  grateful  to  Prale  for  what  Prale  has  done 
for  him.  So,  naturally,  he  refuses  to  turn  against  his 
employer." 

"If  you  will  leave  the  matter  in  my  hands "  the 

masked  man  suggested. 

"I  may  do  so  after  we  have  had  this  little  talk. 
Come  closer,  so  I  can  speak  in  a  low  tone  and  he 
will  not  hear." 

They  pulled  their  chairs  up  to  the  table. 

"This  man  is  stubborn,"  she  said.  "You  could 
starve  him  or  beat  him,  and  it  would  do  you  not  the 
slightest  good.  It  would  only  make  him  the  more 
determined  to  be  faithful  to  Prale.  We  would  gain 
nothing.  We've  got  to  convince  him  that  we  are  in 
the  right." 

"I  object  to  telling  him  the  whole  truth,"  said  the 
masked  man. 

"He  could  do  nothing  except  tell  it  to  Prale — and 
Prale  knows  it  already,  doesn't  he?"  Kate  Gilbert 
asked. 

"You  want  to  let  the  fellow  go?"  the  masked  man 
cried.     "Why,  we  can  use  him  as  a  sort  of  hostage !" 

"As  if  Sidney  Prale  would  care  if  he  never  saw 
his  valet  again!" 

"He  is  more  than  a  valet;  he  is  one  of  Prale's 
spies!  If  we  can  hold  this  man  prisoner,  and  attend 
to  Jim  Farland,  that  detective,  Prale  would  stand 
alone.     There  are  not  many  men  he  would  trust  to 


176  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

help  him.  And,  if  he  stands  alone,  it  will  be  easier 
for  us  to  torment  him,  cause  him  trouble,  drive  him 
away !" 

"Sometimes  I  regret  that  we  started  this  thing,** 
Kate  Gilbert  said.  "What  will  it  avail  us  to  make 
Prale's  life  miserable?" 

"You  seem  to  forget " 

"I  forget  nothing!  I  know  how  I  have  suffered, 
how  my  father  and  others  have  suffered.  But  I  am 
not  sure  that  retribution  will  not  visit  Sidney  Prale 
even  if  we  keep  our  hands  off." 

"You're  a  woman;  that  is  why!"  the  masked  man 
accused.  "You  have  a  soft  heart,  as  is  right  and 
proper  in  a  woman.  But  when  you  remember  your 
father " 

"I  am  not  quitting!"  she  declared.  "I  will  con- 
tinue the  game.  But  I  will  not  permit  violence  to- 
ward anybody,  least  of  all  to  a  poor  fellow  who  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  affair  except  that  he  is  work- 
ing for  Sidney  Prale.  We  can  accomplish  our  aims 
without  becoming  thugs  and  breaking  laws  ourselves. 
I  understood  that  we  always  were  to  keep  inside  the 
law." 

"Well,  what  have  you  to  suggest?"  the  masked 
man  asked. 

"Let  Prale's  valet  go,  for  he  can  do  us  no  harm. 
Prale  knows  that  I  am  against  him,  but  he  can  make 
no  move  unless  we  break  the  law  and  his  detective 
has  us  apprehended.  We  play  into  Sidney  Prale's 
hands  if  we  do  that.  Can't  you  see  it?  We  do  not 
want  to  give  him  an  advantage,  do  we?     If  we  use 


A  WOMAN'S  WAY  177 

violence  or  break  a  law,'  we  do  just  that.  We  must 
break  him  down  cleverly." 

"I  see  that  point,  all  right." 

"I  am  astnoished  that  you  did  not  see  it  before. 
You  appear  to  be  very  vindictive  lately,  yet  you  did 
not  suffer  as  some  others  suffered." 

"I  have  my  reasons.  I  always  have  hated  Sidney 
Prale." 

"Then  you  are  making  this  fight  for  personal 
reasons  ?" 

'*Do  not  forget  that  some  very  good  friends  of 
mine  suffered  because  of  Prale.  But,  about  the 
valet " 

"Let  him  go,  I  say.    What  harm  can  he  do?" 

"We  slugged  him  to  get  him  here.  He  can  report 
it  to  the  police,  and  have  you  arrested,  and  these  two 
men." 

"And  what  evidence  would  he  have?"  she  asked. 
"Who  would  testify  that  he  was  telling  the  truth? 
These  two  men  can  keep  out  of  sight  for  the  present. 
He  has  not  seen  your  face  because  of  your  mask. 
And  to  charge  me  with  slugging  him  would  be  ridicu- 
lous." 

"This  house " 

"Is  vacant,  so  far  as  the  neighbors  know;  it  is 
owned  by  a  man  whose  wife  died,  and  who  has  been 
gone  for  more  than  a  year.  The  agent  who  rented  it 
to  us  furnished,  is  one  of  us.  We  can  simply  close 
it  up  and  not  come  here  again.  If  he  complained, 
and  the  police  investigated,  they  would  find  the  house 
closed,  and  the  nearest  neighbors  would  declare  that 


178  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

it  had  been  closed  since  the  owner  went  away.  The 
furniture  is  not  even  dusted." 

"That  part  is  all  right." 

"And  that  attack  on  Prale  in  the  Park  during  the 
afternoon!"  she  went  on,  "That  was  a  mistake. 
Suppose  Detective  Farland  managed  to  connect  that 
with  us.  I  tell  you  we  must  not  break  a  law,  or 
Sidney  Prale  may  get  the  advantage!" 

"We  can't  handle  an  affair  like  this  with  kid 
gloves !"  the  masked  man  declared. 

"We  do  as  I  say,  or  I  shall  go  to  Sidney  Prale 
and  tell  him  everything  and  rob  you  of  your  venge- 
ance !" 

"You  would  do  that!"  the  masked  man  cried, 
springing  from  his  chair. 

"I'll  do  it  if  there  is  any  more  violence!"  she  de- 
clared. "It  was  understood  that  no  rough  tactics 
were  to  be  used,  and  I  demand  that  we  carry  out  the 
original  plan!" 

"We'll  see  about  this!"  the  masked  man  cried. 
"I'll  talk  to  some  of  the  others " 

"And  I'll  leave  the  game  if  there  is  any  more  vio- 
lence— do  not  forget  that!"  Kate  Gilbert  cried. 

She  continued  to  talk  and  plan,  for  she  was  fighting 
for  time.  She  had  known  that,  at  the  last  moment, 
this  man  would  refuse  to  release  Murk. 

Marie,  the  big  maid,  had  hurried  from  the  house, 
which  sat  far  back  from  the  street  and  was  sur- 
rounded by  trees.  But  she  had  returned  after  watch- 
ing for  a  few  minutes. 

Murk,  sitting  on  the  sofa,  heard  somebody  at  one 
of  the  windows.     He  watched  the  sash  being  raised 


A  WOMAN'S  WAY  179 

slowly  and  cautiously,  and  after  a  time  saw  the  head 
of  Marie.  She  motioned  him  for  silence,  listened  a 
moment,  and  then  crawled  inside. 

Marie  hurried  across  to  Murk  and  fumbled  with 
the  cords  that  bound  his  wrists  together  behind  his 
back.  The  bonds  slipped  away,  and  Murk  made 
quick  work  of  the  one  around  his  ankles.  He  hur- 
ried across  the  room,  got  through  the  window,  and 
helped  the  big  maid  through.  Marie  led  him  toward 
the  street. 

"Come  right  along  with  me!"  she  commanded, 
when  they  were  some  distance  from  the  house. 

"Thanks  for  helpin'  me  out,  but  I  guess  I'll  hang 
around,"  Murk  replied.  "I'm  right  eager  to  get  a 
look  at  the  face  of  the  man  who  was  wearing  the 
mask." 

"I  supposed  you'd  want  to  do  that,"  the  big  maid 
told  him.  "And  that's  what  I've  got  orders  to  keep 
you  from  doing.     You  come  along  with  me !" 

Murk  got  a  surprise.  Marie  gripped  his  shoulder 
with  her  left  hand — and  it  was  no  gentle  grip.  Then 
he  saw  that  she  was  holding  an  automatic  pistol  in 
her  right  hand. 

"There  is  a  taxi  at  the  corner,"  she  informed 
Murk.  "We  are  going  to  get  into  it  and  drive  back 
to  the  city.  You  may  be  able  to  find  this  house 
afterward,  but  I  doubt  it." 

"Suppose  I  take  a  notion  not  to  go?"  Murk  asked. 

"I'm  not  afraid  to  shoot,"  Marie  informed  him. 

"Aw,  let  me  go !"  he  exclaimed.  "You're  in  wrong 
in  this  deal ;  see  ?    I  tell  you  that  Mr.  Prale,  my  boss. 


i8o  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

is  an  all-right  man,  and  you  people  are  makin'  some 
kind  of  a  mistake." 

"I  like  to  see  a  man  stick  up  for  his  boss,"  replied 
the  gigantic  Marie.  "And  I'm  stickin'  up  for  mine 
right  this  minute,  and  she  told  me  to  see  that  you 
went  to  town.  Why  don't  you  quit  that  man  Prale 
and  get  a  real  job  with  a  gentleman?  You're  not  a 
bad-looking  man  at  all." 

Murk  felt  himself  blushing  at  this  unexpected  an- 
nouncement. Praise  from  the  lips  of  a  woman  was 
something  new  in  his  life.  He  glanced  at  the  amazon 
beside  him. 

"And  you're  sure  some  woman!"  he  said.  "And 
that  ain't  just  nice  talk — I  sure  mean  it!  But  you 
ain't  got  this  from  the  right  angle.  I've  got  to  work 
for  Mr.  Prale.  I'd  be  a  dead  one  this  minute  if  it 
wasn't  for  him.  If  I  didn't  stick  by  him  now,  I'd 
never  be  able  to  look  at  myself  in  a  shavin'  mirror 
again.  You  don't  want  me  to  be  an  ungrateful  pup, 
do  you?     You  see " 

Having  directed  her  attention  to  another  topic  for 
a  moment.  Murk  put  his  plan  into  action.  He  made 
a  quick  lunge  forward  as  he  spoke,  springing  a  bit 
to  one  side  as  he  did  so,  and  trying  to  seize  the  auto- 
matic and  tear  it  from  her  grasp. 

But  the  gigantic  Marie  had  been  anticipating  some- 
thing like  that,  despite  Murk's  speech  and  his  manner 
that  said  he  was  a  willing  captive.  She  lurched  for- 
ward and  hurled  Murk  back,  sprang  after  him, 
crashed  the  butt  of  the  weapon  against  the  side  of 
his  head,  and  then,  while  he  was  a  trifle  groggy  from 
the  blow,  she  grasped  him  with  her  powerful  hands 


A  WOMAN'S  WAY  l8l 

and  piloted  him  toward  the  street  with  strength  and 
determination. 

"Never  try  to  play  them  child's  tricks  on  me!"  she 
announced. 

Murk  regarded  her  with  mingled  admiration  and 
chagrin,  and  spoke  with  enthusiasm. 

"Some  woman!"  he  commented. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

COADLEY      QUITS 

MURK,  compelled  to  ride  back  to  the  city  in  the 
taxicab  with  Marie,  spent  the  time  in  ordinary 
conversation  with  the  amazon,  and  told  himself  re- 
peatedly that  she  was  a  great  woman,  a  dangerous 
state  of  mind  for  a  bachelor. 

The  only  reason  Murk  wanted  to  remain  in  the 
vicinity  of  the  cottage  was  to  catch  a  sight  of  the 
countenance  of  the  man  who  had  worn  the  mask. 
As  far  as  the  cottage  itself  was  concerned,  he  had 
noticed  a  signboard  on  a  street  corner  not  far  from 
it,  and  he  would  be  able  to  locate  it  again  if  Sidney 
Prale  or  Jim  Farland  thought  it  necessary. 

Marie  stopped  the  taxicab  near  the  Park,  and 
Murk  got  out  and  gallantly  offered  to  pay  the  bill  for 
his  enemy,  but  Marie  would  not  allow  it. 

"Hope  to  see  you  often  and  get  to  know  you  better 
when  this  little  scrap  is  over,"  Murk  made  bold  to 
say,  and  then,  chuckling  at  her  retort,  he  started 
walking  down  the  street. 

He  did  not  care  to  ride,  for  it  was  not  so  very 
many  blocks  to  the  hotel,  and  Murk  wanted  time  to 
formulate  in  his  mind  the  report  he  intended  to  make 
to  his  employer. 

Prale  was  waiting  for  him,  and  Murk  told  his 
story  in  detail  and  without  embellishment. 


COADLEY  QUITS  183 

"So  Kate  Gilbert  had  you  freed,  did  she?"  Prale 
said.  "And  she  told  the  others  that  she  would  quit 
them  if  they  used  any  more  violence  ?  Murk,  old  boy, 
when  our  foes  begin  fighting  in  their  own  camp  it  is 
time  for  us  to  begin  to  hope.  A  house  divided 
against  itself  cannot  stand,  as  you  probably  have 
heard." 

"She  certainly  panned  the  man  who  wore  the 
handkerchief  over  his  face,"  Murk  said.  "I  think 
I'd  know  him  again,  boss.  He  talked  a  good  deal, 
remember,  and  he  got  careless  toward  the  last  and 
used  his  regular  voice.  And  I  watched  his  hands — 
boob  didn't  have  sense  enough  to  wear  gloves.  Any- 
body but  a  boob  would  know  that  a  hand  can  be 
recognized  as  easy  as  a  face." 

"Let  us  hope  that  they  make  a  lot  of  mistakes  like 
that.  Murk,"  Prale  replied.  "I'll  be  glad  if  we  ever 
solve  this  confounded  mystery.  It's  getting  on  my 
nerves." 

They  remained  up  until  one  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, but  Jim  Farland  neither  visited  the  hotel  again 
nor  called  them  up,  and  so  they  went  to  bed. 

They  did  not  rise  early,  but  had  breakfast  in  the 
suite  and  took  their  time  about  eating  it.  After  that, 
they  waited  for  Farland  to  arrive  or  telephone  and 
give  orders  and  tell  news.  Farland  did  not  come,  but 
Attorney  Coadley  did. 

Murk  admitted  him,  and  the  distinguished  crim- 
inal lawyer  sat  in  the  window  beside  Prale,  a  grave 
expression  on  his  face,  his  manner  that  of  a  discon- 
certed man. 


r84  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

"I  gather  you  do  not  bring  good  news,  judging 
from  your  countenance,"  Prale  said. 

"At  least,  I  have  not  come  to  say  that  the  case 
against  you  is  any  stronger,"  Coadley  replied.  "I'd 
like  to  speak  to  you  alone,  Mr.  Prale." 

"Certainly.  You  may  go  into  the  other  room, 
Murk,  and  remain  until  I  call." 

Murk  obeyed,  and  Sidney  Prale  bent  forward  in 
his  chair  and  looked  at  the  attorney  again,  wondering 
what  this  visit  meant,  what  was  coming,  half  fearing 
that  the  news  would  be  ill  after  all. 

"Mr.  Prale,"  Coadley  said,  "I  have  come  here  to 
your  apartment  to  tell  you  that  I  wish  you  to  get 
another  attorney." 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  Prale  gasped. 

"I  wish  to  withdraw  from  the  case,  Mr.  Prale — 
that  is  all.  An  attorney  does  that  frequently,  you 
know." 

"But  I  want  you  to  handle  my  case,"  Prale  said. 
"I  have  been  given  to  understand  that  you  are  one 
of  the  foremost  criminal  lawyers  in  the  city.  And 
you  have  done  so  much  already " 

"I  insist  that  I  withdraw,  Mr.  Prale.  I  shall  be 
ethical.  I  shall  give  the  man  you  name  in  my  place 
all  the  knowledge  at  my  command  regarding  this 
case,  and  I  shall  see  that  the  change  does  not  embar- 
rass you  or  place  you  in  jeopardy.  The  court  will 
grant  extensions  if  they  are  necessary." 

"Farland  has  given  me  to  understand  that  my  alibi 
now  is  of  such  a  nature  that  the  case  against  me  may 
be  dismissed.  I  had  hoped  that  you  had  come  here 
this  morning  to  tell  me  so." 


COADLEY  QUITS  185 

"I  fancy  that  any  good  attorney  can  get  the  charge 
dismissed,"  Coadley  said. 

"But  I  do  not  want  to  be  freed  under  a  cloud.  I 
want  the  pubHc  to  be  sure  I  did  not  kill  Rufus 
Shepley — I  want  to  have  the  public  know  the  identity 
of  the  man  who  did." 

"That  is  what  I  thought,  and  that  will  take  con- 
siderable time,  perhaps,"  Coadley  said.  "And  so  I 
wish  to  withdraw " 

"If  it  is  a  question  of  fee " 


"Nothing  of  the  sort,  Mr.  Prale.  I  am  sure  you 
would  pay  me  any  reasonable  fee  I  asked.  There  is 
no  question  regarding  your  financial  ability." 

"May  I  ask,  then,  why  you  desire  to  leave  the 
case  ?"  Sidney  Prale  asked, 

"I'd  rather  not  state  my  reasons,  Mr.  Prale.  Just 
let  me  withdraw,  and  make  arrangements  with  the 
court,  after  you  have  named  the  man  to  take  my 
place.     The  bail  arrangement  will  stand,  of  course." 

"So  you  do  not  care  to  tell  your  reasons!"  Prale 
said.  "Mr.  Coadley,  a  banker  refused  to  handle  my 
funds.  A  hotel  manager  ordered  me  out,  you  might 
say,  for  no  good  reason  whatever.  I  understand  that 
I  have  some  powerful  enemies  who  are  working  in 
the  dark,  and  who  cause  these  annoyances.  Do  you 
wdsh  me  to  understand,  Mr.  Coadley,  that  they  have 
been  to  see  you  ?  Do  you  wish  me  to  think  that  you 
are  under  the  thumbs  of  these  persons,  whoever  they 
may  be?" 

The  attorney's  face  flushed,  and  he  looked  angry 
for  an  instant,  but  quickly  controlled  himself. 


i86  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

"I  do  not  care  to  go  into  details,  Mr.  Prale,"  he 
said. 

"Then  it  is  the  truth!"  Prale  said.  "The  big  crim- 
inal lawyer  is  not  so  big  but  that  others  can  force 
him  to  do  as  they  please." 

"Let  us  say  as  I  please,  Mr.  Prale." 

"Then  you  think  that  you  have  a  good  reason  for 
withdrawing?" 

"I  do." 

"In  other  words,  something  has  been  told  you  that 
convinced  you  I  am  not  a  fit  client.  Is  that  it?  And, 
instead  of  telling  me  what  it  is,  and  giving  me  a 
chance  to  refute  the  charge  or  explain,  you  simply 
take  the  easiest  course  and  believe  my  enemies.  Do 
you  call  that  an  example  of  the  square  deal?" 

"Let  us  not  talk  about  it  further,  Mr.  Prale," 
Coadley  replied.  "I  feel  quite  sure  that  you  have  a 
complete  understanding  of  the   situation." 

"But  I  have  not !  I  seem  to  be  able  to  understand 
nothing  in  regard  to  this  afifair  of  which  I  am  the 
central  figure.  I  would  give  half  my  fortune,  I  be- 
lieve, to  have  an  explanation  and  be  able  to  set 
things  right." 

"No  doubt  you  would  be  willing  to  give  half  your 
fortune  to  set  things  right!"  Coadley  said.  "It  is 
your  privilege,  of  course,  to  say  that  you  do  not 
understand.  Mr.  Prale,  you  must  see  that  this  inter- 
view is  painful  to  me,  and  it  must  be  painful  to  you. 
Why  prolong  it?" 

"As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  this  interview  may  be 
terminated  at  once,  sir!"  Sidney  Prale  exclaimed. 
"I'll  send  you  a  check  for  your  services  as  soon  as 


COADLEY  QUITS  187 

you  submit  your  bill ;  and  please  do  not  neglect  to  do 
so  at  once.  I'll  inform  you  as  soon  as  possible  of 
the  name  of  the  man  I  select  to  fill  your  legal  shoes 
in  this  matter.  That  is  satisfactory?  Very  well. 
Murk!" 

Murk  hurried  in  from  the  adjoining  room  when 
he  heard  Sidney  Prale's  call. 

"Show  Mr.  Coadley  to  the  hall  door.  Murk !"  Sid- 
ney Prale  said.  "And  while  you  are  about  it,  please 
close  that  ventilator  in  the  corner  of  the  room.  It 
creates  a  draft,  I  am  sure,  and  Mr.  Coadley  already 
has  cold  feet!" 

The  attorney  glared  at  Prale,  and  then  got  up  and 
walked  quickly  across  to  the  door,  which  the  grinning 
Murk  held  open  to  let  him  pass  out. 


CHAPTER  XX 

UP       THE       RIVER 

COADLEY  had  not  gone  for  more  than  an  hour 
when  Detective  Jim  Farland  arrived  at  the  hotel 
and  made  his  way  immediately  to  Sidney  Prale's 
suite. 

He  found  Prale  pacing  the  floor  angrily,  and  Murk 
sitting  in  a  corner  and  watching  him.  The  police 
detective,  after  doing  duty  for  a  few  days,  had  been 
withdrawn,  as  it  seemed  evident  that  Prale  had  no 
intention  of  jumping  his  bail  or  eluding  trial  in  any 
other  way. 

"What's  the  trouble  now?"  Farland  asked. 

"Coadley  has  just  been  here,"  Prale  replied.  "He 
has  quit  us.  Our  friends  the  enemy  have  reached 
him." 

"You  couldn't  get  any  sort  of  an  explanation  out 
of  him?"  Farland  asked. 

"Nothing  at  all.  He  simply  informed  me  that  he 
was  done,  and  that  I  had  to  get  another  lawyer.'' 

"I'll  try  to  find  an  honest  one  for  you,"  Farland 
declared.  "I  happen  to  know  a  clever  young  chap 
who  probably  will  take  the  case,  especially  if  I  ex- 
plain the  thing  to  him,  for  he  loves  a  fight.  There 
is  no  special  hurry,  but  I'll  try  to  attend  to  it  some 
time  to-day." 

"Anything  new?"  Prale  asked. 


UP  THE  RIVER  189 

"That  is  what  I  am  waiting  to  hear.  What  did 
you  do  last  night,  Murk?" 

Murk  related  his  adventure  at  length,  while  Jim 
Farland  listened  gravely,  nodding  his  head  now  and 
then,  and  looking  puzzled  at  times. 

"I'd  like  to  know  the  identity  of  that  masked  man," 
the  detective  said,  when  Murk  had  finished.  "The 
main  trouble  in  this  case  is  that  we  do  not  know  the 
people  we  are  fighting.  We  know  that  Kate  Gilbert 
is  one  of  them,  and  have  reason  to  suspect  that 
George  Lerton  is  another.  But  there  is  somebody 
bigger  behind,  and  that's  a  fact." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  next?"  Prale  asked. 

"I'm  going  to  pay  a  little  attention  to  the  Rufus 
Shepley  murder  case.  I'm  going  to  find  out,  if  I  can, 
who  killed  Shepley,  and  why.  I  am  of  the  opinion 
that  the  murder  is  distinct  from  this  other  trouble, 
Sid.  Perhaps  a  clew  to  the  murder,  however,  will 
give  us  a  clew  to  the  whole  thing,  for  it  is  certain 
that  somebody  has  attempted  to  hang  that  crime  on 
you." 

"How  about  George  Lerton?"  Prale  asked. 

"We  know  that  he  tried  to  help  smash  your  alibi  by 
telling  a  falsehood,  and  by  sending  those  notes  to  the 
barber  and  the  merchant.  But  we  do  not  know  his 
motive,  unless  it  is  simply  a  hatred  of  you,  Sid,  and 
envy  of  the  million  dollars  you  got  in  Honduras. 
I'm  going  to  get  out  of  here  now,  and  get  busy." 

"Anything  for  us  to  do?"  Prale  asked. 

"Keep  out  of  trouble — that  is  the  principal  thing. 
It  appears  that  every  time  either  of  you  goes  out,  you 


190  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

get  knocked  on  the  head.  I'll  report  again  as  soon  as 
I  can." 

Jim  Farland  left  them  and  hurried  from  the  hotel. 
He  went  to  the  hostelry  where  Rufus  Shepley  had 
met  his  death,  was  admitted  to  the  suite,  and  made  an 
exhaustive  investigation,  which  revealed  nothing  of 
importance. 

He  visited  the  New  York  offices  of  the  company 
in  which  Shepley  had  been  interested,  and  questioned 
officials  and  clerks,  but  got  no  inkling  of  a  state  of 
affairs  that  might  have  led  to  a  murder.  He  was 
told  that  the  company's  business  was  in  proper  shape, 
and  that  Rufus  Shepley  had  had  no  financial  trouble 
of  any  sort  so  far  as  his  associates  knew. 

Farland  left  the  office  and  continued  his  investiga- 
tions. In  the  evening  he  went  to  his  home  for  a 
meal,  and  admitted  to  himself  that  he  did  not  know 
any  more  than  when  he  had  started  out  that  morning. 

"It  gets  my  goat!"  he  said  to  his  reflection  in  the 
bathroom  mirror.  "I'll  have  to  begin  working  from 
some  other  starting  point.  I've  made  a  mistake  some- 
where, or  overlooked  something  that  I  should  have 
seen.     Makes  me  sore!" 

The  telephone  bell  rang,  and  Farland  went  to  the 
instrument  to  hear  the  voice  of  a  man  he  did  not 
know. 

"I  understand  that  you  are  interested  in  the  Shep- 
ley murder  case,"  his  caller  said. 

"I  am  working  on  it,  yes.  Who  is  talking?"  Far- 
land  demanded. 

"I'm  not  ready  to  mention  any  names.  If  you 
want  to  hang  up,  go  ahead  and  you'll  miss  something 


UP  THE  RIVER  191 

important.  Or  if  you  want  to  listen  for  a  min- 
ute  " 

"I'll  listen!"   Farland  said. 

"I  know  a  lot  about  that  Shepley  case,  but  I  am 
in  a  position  where  I  have  to  be  careful.  If  you'll 
do  as  I  say,  you  can  learn  something  you'd  like  to 
know." 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  Farland  asked. 

"Meet  me  in  some  place  where  nobody  will  see 
us  talking,  and  I'll  tell  you  a  few  things.  But  I 
must  have  your  promise  that  you'll  not  reveal  the 
source   of   the   information." 

"I'll  protect  you,  unless  you  are  mixed  up  in  it 
to  such  an  extent  that  I'd  dare  not  do  so,"  Farland 
said.  "I'm  not  guaranteeing  to  shield  any  murderer 
or  accessory." 

"I  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  murder,  if  that 
is  what  you  mean,"  came  the  reply. 

"Then  where  do  you  want  me  to  meet  you — and 
when?     Can  you  make  it  this  evening?" 

"Yes;  and  suppose  that  you  set  the  meeting  place, 
one  that  you  know  will  be  all  right  for  both  of  us." 

Farland  was  glad  to  listen  to  that  sentence.  He 
had  half  believed  that  this  was  nothing  more  than 
a  trap,  that  some  of  Sidney  Prale's  mysterious  ene- 
mies were  attempting  to  lure  him  to  some  out-of-the- 
way  place  and  get  him  in  their  power.  But  if  he  was 
to  be  allowed  to  name  the  meeting  place,  it  seemed 
to  indicate  that  everything  was  all  right  in  that 
regard. 

Farland  though  a  moment,  and  then  suggested  a 
certain  famous  restaurant  on  Broadway  and  a  table 


192  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

in  a  corner  of  the  main  room,  where  a  man  could 
lose  himself  in  the  crowd.  But  that  did  not  meet 
with  the  approval  of  the  man  at  the  other  end  of 
the   telephone   wire. 

"Nothing  doing  in  that  place,"  he  said.  "One  of 
the  men  interested  in  this  thing  hangs  out  there 
almost  every  evening.  He'd  be  sure  to  see  us,  h€ 
knows  how  much  I  know  about  it,  and  he'd  suspect 
things  in  a  second  if  he  saw  me  talking  to  you. 
Then  it'd  be  made  hot  for  me.  I've  got  to  protect 
myself,  of  course." 

"Suggest  a  place  yourself,"  Farland  said. 

"Make  it  outside  somewhere.  How  about  some 
place  in  Riverside  Park?" 

"Suits   me,"   Farland   replied. 

The  man  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire  gave  the 
directions  after  much  seeming  speculation  and  many 
changes.  Jim  Farland  was  to  go  to  Grant's  Tomb, 
and  from  there  to  a  certain  place  near  the  river. 
The  other  man  would  be  in  the  neighborhood  watch- 
ing, he  said,  would  recognize  Farland  as  he  passed 
the  Tomb,  and  then  would  follow  and  speak  to  him 
when  nobody  else   was   near. 

Farland  agreed,  and  made  the  engagement  for  an 
hour  and  a  half  later,  saying  that  he  could  not  get 
there  before  that  time.  It  would  not  be  the  first 
time  that  Jim  Farland  had  obtained  an  important 
clew  because  somebody  interested  had  grown  dis- 
gruntled and  had  turned  against  his  pals;  and  he 
supposed  this  to  be  a  case  of  that  sort. 

Before  leaving  home,  Farland  made  sure  that  his 
automatic  was  in  excellent  condition,  and  that  he  had 


UP  THE  RIVER  193 

his  handcuffs  and  electric  torch  and  other  para- 
phernaHa  of  his  trade.  He  made  his  way  to  Colum- 
bus Circle,  having  decided  to  walk  to  the  rendezvous. 
Farland  was  in  no  hurry.  He  observed  all  who 
passed  him,  and  he  frequently  made  experiments  to 
ascertain  whether  he  was  being  followed.  He  de- 
cided, after  a  time,  that  if  he  was  being  shadowed 
the  person  doing  it  was  too  clever  for  him. 

He  came  to  Riverside  Drive  through  a  cross  street, 
and  approached  the  famous  Tomb  as  cautiously  as 
possible,  keeping  in  the  shadows,  alert  to  discover 
anybody  v/ho  might  be  acting  at  all  suspiciously. 
Farland  felt  sure  that  this  was  no  trap,  but  he  was 
not  taking  chances.  He  always  had  been  known 
to  his   friends  as  a  cautious  man. 

He  reached  the  Tomb  finally,  and  glanced  around. 
Half  a  dozen  persons  were  passing,  some  men  and 
some  women,  some  alone  and  others  in  couples,  but 
none  were  of  suspicious  appearance. 

Farland  glanced  at  his  watch  to  be  sure  that  it 
was  the  appointed  time.  He  strolled  around  the 
Tomb  and  waited  ten  minutes  longer,  for  he  did  not 
care  to  find  later  that  he  had  left  the  appointed  spot 
too  early  and  that  the  other  man  had  not  spen  and 
followed  him. 

At  the  end  of  the  extra  ten  minutes,  Farland 
lighted  one  of  his  big,  black  cigars  and  started 
walking  toward  the  river,  following  the  route  the 
other  man  had  designated  over  the  telephone.  He 
walked  slowly  and  not  for  an  instant  did  he  throw 
caution  aside. 

Here   and   there   were  dark   spots   where   Farland 


194  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

expected  to  hear  his  name  spoken,  spots  where  an 
attack  might  be  made  if  one  was  contemplated  by 
foes. 

It  was  as  he  was  passing  one  of  these  that  a 
whisper  came  from  the  darkness: 

"Mr.    Farland!" 

The  detective  whirled  toward  the  sound,  one  hand 
diving  into  a  coat  pocket  and  clutching  his  automatic. 

"Well?" 

"Be  as  silent  as  possible.  Do  not  flash  your  torch 
yet;  you  may  do  so  presently,  so  you  can  see  who 
is  talking.  I  am  the  man  who  called  you  up  by 
telephone." 

"Come  out  where  I  can  get  a  glimpse  of  you," 
Farland  commanded,  ready  for  trouble. 

He  could  see  a  shadow  detach  itself  from  the 
patch  of  gloom  in  front  of  him  and  approach. 

"That  is  close  enough  for  the  present!"  Farland 
said,  "I'm  not  taking  chances  on  you  until  I  know 
who's  talking  to  me." 

"I  don't  blame  you,  Mr.  Farland,  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. If  you  are  sure  there  is  nobody  ap- 
proaching, I'll  come  out  into  the  light  so  you  can  see 
my  face." 

Farland  glanced  up  and  down  the  walk  quickly. 
As  he  did  so,  he  heard  a  step  behind  him.  He 
whirled,  the  automatic  came  from  his  pocket  ready 
for  use — and  a  man  crashed  into  him. 

The  one  who  had  been  talking  from  the  patch 
of  shadow  rushed  forward  at  the  same  instant.  Far- 
land  managed  to  fire  once,  but  the  shot  went  wild. 
Then  a   third  man   rushed   from   the  darkness,  and 


UP  THE  RIVER  195 

the  detective  had  the  automatic  torn  away,  and  found 
that  he  had  a  battle  on  his  hands. 

One  man  was  upon  his  back,  throttling  him  so 
that  he  could  not  utter  a  cry.  The  others  were 
trying  to  throw  him  to  the  ground.  Farland  won- 
dered whether  that  single  shot  had  been  heard, 
whether  assistance  would  reach  him,  for  he  knew  that 
here  was  a  battle  he  could  not  win  by  force. 

Finally  they  got  him  down.  Something  was  thrust 
into  his  mouth  and  bandaged  there,  effectually  gag- 
ging him.  He  was  turned  over  on  his  face,  and  his 
wrists  were  lashed  behind  him.  Then  his  ankles 
were  fastened,  and  two  of  the  men,  at  the  whis- 
pered instruction  of  the  third,  picked  him  up  like  a 
sack  of  meal  and  carried  him  into  the  deep  shadows. 

They  did  not  stop  there,  but  continued  toward  the 
river,  holding  a  conversation  in  whispers  at  times, 
and  stopping  now  and  then  for  a  moment  to  rest 
and  listen.  Farland  had  been  quiet,  gathering  his 
strength,   and   suddenly   he  began   to   struggle. 

It  was  nothing  worse  than  annoyance  for  his 
opponents.  He  was  unable  to  make  an  outcry  that 
would  attract  attention,  and  he  was  unable  to  put 
up  an  effective  fight.  They  threw  him  upon  the 
ground  again  and  held  him  there. 

"Another  little  trick  like  that,  and  we'll  give  you 
something  to  keep  you  quiet,"  one  of  the  men  whis- 
pered into  his  ear.  "We've  got  you,  and  you'd 
better  let  it  go  at  that!" 

Once  more  they  picked  him  up  and  went  toward 
the  river.  They  reached  it,  and  one  of  the  men 
hurried  away  while  the  other  two  guarded  Farland. 


196  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

Five  minutes  passed,  and  then  a  powerful  motor  boat 
slipped  toward  the  shore.  An  instant  later  Farland 
was  aboard  it,  a  prisoner,  and  the  boat  was  rushing 
through   the   great  river  toward  the   north. 

Farland  made  an  attempt  to  watch  the  lights  along 
the  shore,  but  one  of  the  men  threw  a  sack  over  his 
face,  so  that  he  could  not  see.  And  so  he  merely 
listened  to  the  beating  of  the  boat's  engine,  and 
tried  to  estimate  with  what  speed  they  were  running 
and  how  much  mileage  the  craft  was  covering. 

The  sack  was  heavy,  and  Jim  Farland  felt  himself 
half  smothered,  the  perspiration  pouring  from  his 
face  and  neck.  He  had  grown  angry  for  a  moment, 
angry  at  himself  for  walking  into  the  trap  even 
while  suspecting  that  one  might  exist,  angry  at  these 
three  men  who  had  captured  him  so  close  to  River- 
side  Drive. 

Then  his  rage  passed.  He  was  experienced  enough 
to  know  that  an  angry  man  is  at  a  disadvantage 
in  a  game  of  wits,  and  that  wits  and  nothing  else 
could  get  him  out  of  the  present  predicament. 

Finally,  he  felt  the  boat  turning,  the  speed  was  cut 
off,  and  it  drifted  against  something.  Farland  was 
lifted  out  of  the  motor  boat,  but  one  of  the  men 
held  the  sack  over  his  head,  and  he  was  unable  to 
see.  Once  more  he  was  carried,  this  time  away  from 
the  river,  and  he  could  tell  nothing  except  that  the 
men  who  carried  him  were  struggling  up  a  sharp 
slope. 

Farland  made  no  attempt  to  fight  or  struggle  now, 
knowing  that  it  would  avail  him  nothing  to  attempt 
to  throw  off  these  three  men.    He  had  decided  to 


UP  THE  RIVER  197 

conserve  his  strength,  and  to  trust  to  his  usual  good 
fortune  to  get  a  chance  later  to  even  things  by  turn- 
ing the  tables  on  his  captors. 

Suddenly  the  sack  was  taken  from  his  head,  and 
he  was  able  to  breathe  better.  He  found  that  he 
was  beside  a  road  in  which  stood  an  automobile. 
Two  of  the  men  lifted  him,  tossed  him  inside  the 
machine,  and  then  got  in  themselves.  The  driver 
started  the  engine,  threw  in  the  dutch,  and  soon  the 
car  was  being  driven  at  a  furious  pace  along  the 
winding   road. 

"Look  around  all  you  want  to!"  one  of  Farland's 
captors  growled  at  him.  "You  won't  even  know 
where  you  are  when  you  get  there  I" 


CHAPTER  XXI 

RECOGNITION 

THROUGH  a  maze  of  crossing  and  winding 
roads  the  car  made  its  way,  now  over  highways 
as  smooth  as  a  city  pavement,  and  now  over  rough 
mileage  that  jolted  the  occupants  and  threatened  the 
springs  with  destruction. 

Jim  Farland  did  not  recognize  this  particular  dis- 
trict. He  did  not  even  know  upon  which  side  of 
the  river  he  was  being  hauled  along  as  a  prisoner. 
In  the  city  proper,  his  abductors  would  have  found 
it  very  difficult  to  take  him  to  a  section  where  he 
could  not  have  recognized  some  sort  of  a  landmark, 
but  here  they  had  him  at  a  serious  disadvantage. 

The  night  was  dark,  too,  and  a  fine  drizzle  was 
falling.  Farland  tugged  at  his  bonds  when  he  could, 
and  finally  convinced  himself  that  they  would  not 
give.  He  tried  to  work  one  end  of  the  gag  from 
the  corner  of  his  mouth  and  found  that  he  could  not 
do  that.  He  was  utterly  helpless  for  the  time  being, 
at  the  mercy  of  the  three  men  who  had  kidnaped 
him,  and  the  chaufiFeur,  and  whoever  might  be  where 
they  were  going. 

For  half  an  hour  longer  the  car  made  its  way 
across  the  country,  and  then  Farland  noticed  that  it 
left  the  principal  thoroughfare  and  turned  into  a 
rough,  narrow  lane  that  was  bordered  with  big  trees. 


RECOGNITION  199 

At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  this  lane,  the 
chauffeur  brought  the  car  to  a  stop.  Farland  could 
see  a  building  that  had  the  appearance  of  being  an 
abandoned    farmhouse. 

He  was  lifted  from  the  car  and  carried  to  the 
door.  One  of  the  men  threw  it  open,  and  Farland 
was  carried  inside.  They  took  him  through  a  hall, 
turned  into  a  room,  and  tossed  him  upon  a  couch 
in  a  corner  there.  One  of  them  struck  a  match, 
lighted  a  lamp,  and  then  they  turned  to  survey  him. 

Farland  glared  at  them,  waited  for  them  to  speak. 
They  were  making  no  attempt  to  hide  their  features. 
Typical  thugs  they  were,  the  three  of  them,  and 
Farland  supposed  that  the  chauffeur,  who  had  not 
come  into  the  house  with  the  others,  belonged  to 
the  same  class. 

One  of  them  stepped  forward  and  removed  Far- 
land's  gag,  while  another  went  into  another  room 
and  presently  returned  with  a  dipper  of  water,  which 
he  held  to  Farland's  lips.  He  drank  greedily,  for 
the  gag  had  parched  his  mouth  and  throat. 

"Bein'  as  how  you  are  a  copper,  I'd  slip  a  knife 
between  your  ribs  and  call  it  a  good  job,"  one  of 
the  men  told  him,  "but  we  are  supposed  to  treat 
you  nice  and  keep  you  in  condition  for  a  little  talk 
with  the  boss.  So  you  needn't  tremble  with  fear 
any." 

*Tt'd  take  more  than  three  bums  like  you  to  make 
me    afraid!"    Farland    told    him. 

"Nasty,  ain't  you?  Maybe  we'll  get  a  little  chance 
to  beat  you  up  later,   especially   if  your  little   talk 


200  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

with  the  boss  ain't  what  they  call  productive  of 
results.  You've  got  some  reputation  as  a  dick,  but 
I  reckon  it's  all  a  fake.  We  didn't  have  much  trouble 
gettin'  you  and  bringin'  you  here." 

"Isn't  that  enough  to  make  you  worry  a  bit?" 
Farland  asked. 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"Did  you  ever  stop  to  think  that  maybe  I  wanted 
to  be  captured  and  hauled  here?  Have  you  any  idea 
how  many  men  watched  and  trailed  us?  You've  led 
me  to  where  I  wanted  to  come,  to  a  place  I  wanted 
to  find,  perhaps." 

"That  bluff  won't  work,"  came  the  reply.  "We 
had  a  couple  of  men  watchin'  for  that  very  thing, 
and  they'd  have  given  us  a  high  sign  if  we  had 
been  followed.  You're  here  all  by  your  lonesome, 
and  so  you'd  better  be  good." 

Two  of  the  men  left  the  room,  and  the  third  sat 
down  by  the  table  to  act  as  guard.  Fifteen  minutes 
passed,  during  which  Jim  Farland  and  the  man  by 
the  table  exchanged  pleasant  remarks  concerning  each 
other,  neither  getting  much  the  best  of  the  argument. 

Then  the  hall  door  was  opened  again,  and  a  masked 
man  entered  the  room ! 

Remembering  what  Murk  had  related  to  him  con- 
cerning his  experience  of  the  night  before,  Jim 
Farland  looked  up  at  this  newcomer  with  sudden 
interest. 

This  man,  undoubtedly,  was  a  sort  of  leader,  one 
who  had  hired  others  to  help  him  in  his  work  and 
who  knew  the  identities  of  Sidney  Prale's  mysterious 


RECOGNITION  201 

enemies,  and  why  they  were  working  against  him; 
perhaps,  also,  the  man  who  could  tell  a  good  deal 
about  the  murder  of  Rufus   Shepley. 

Farland  did  not  betray  too  much  interest,  though, 
for  he  sensed  that  he  was  opposed  to  a  person  of 
trains  and  cunning,  a  different  type  from  the  thugs 
he  hired  to  work  for  him.  So  the  detective  merely 
blinked  his  eyes  rapidly  as  he  looked  up  at  the  other 
and  waited   for  him  to  speak. 

"You   are   Jim    Farland,    a    detective?" 

The  voice  was  low  and  harsh,  a  monotone,  a 
■disguised  voice  in  fact.  Jim  Farland  knew  that  at 
once. 

"That's  my  name,  and  some  people  are  kind 
enough  to  say  that  I  am  a  detective,"  Farland  re- 
plied. "What's  the  idea  of  treating  me  rough  like 
this?" 

"I  regret  that  violence  was  necessary  to  get  you 
here,  Mr.  Farland,"  the  masked  man  replied,  "but  it 
seemed  to  be  the  only  way  in  which  I  could  get  a 
chance  to  talk  to  you  freely  without  subjecting  myself 
to  danger." 

"Why  regret?"   Farland  asked, 

"Because  I  want  you  for  my  friend  instead  of 
my  enemy,  Mr.  Farland,  and  I  fancy  that  we  may 
"be  able  to  come  to  terms.  I  shall  send  this  man  of 
mine  from  the  room  and  submit  a  proposition  to 
you.     I  hope  you  see  fit  to  accept  it." 

He  motioned  for  the  other  man  to  leave,  which 
he  did  immediately,  closing  the  hall  door  behind  him. 
Then  the  masked  man  sat  down  in  the  chair  by  the 
table. 


202  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

Farland  was  watching  him  closely  now.  The  collar 
of  his  coat  and  the  handkerchief  mask  effectually 
shielded  his  face  and  head.  But,  as  Murk  had  told, 
this  man  did  not  have  the  common  sense  to  cover 
his  hands,  and  Farland  looked  at  them  when  he 
could,  careful  not  to  let  the  other  suspect  his  ob- 
ject. 

"I  am  the  man  who  talked  to  Mr.  Prale's  valet 
last  night,"  Farland  heard  the  other  say.  "In  some 
manner,  the  valet  escaped,  and  so  we  were  obliged 
to  have  you  brought  here  instead  of  to  the  place 
where  we  had  him,  and  which  was  considerably 
nearer  the  city.  I  regret  it  if  the  long  ride  annoyed 
you,  but  you  will  appreciate  that  it  was  necessary 
for  my  men  to  bind  and  gag  you." 

"It  certainly  was  if  they  expected  to  get  me  here!" 
Jim  Farland  declared. 

He  heard  the  masked  man  chuckle. 

"I  understand  that  you  have  been  engaged  by 
Sidney  Prale  to  clear  him  of  the  charge  of  murder- 
ing  Rufus    Shepley." 

"I  don't  mind  admitting  that,  since  the  whole  city 
knows  it,"  said  Farland. 

"And  also  to  aid  Sidney  Prale  In  outwitting  cer- 
tain persons  who  are  trying  to  punish  him  for  some- 
thing he  did." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  that.  I  do  know 
that  some  people  are  trying  to  make  things  hot  for 
Sid  Prale,  and  he  doesn't  deserve  it,  and " 

"Pardon  me,  if  I  interrupt!"  the  masked  man 
said.     "You  say  that  he  does  not  deserve  it.     Do 


RECOGNITION  203 

you  believe  that  influential  persons  would  persecute 
him  if  he  did  not  deserve  it?" 

"Sid  Prale  doesn't  know  what  it  is  all  about!" 

"That  is  what  he  told  the  valet,  too.  But  believe 
me  when  I  say  that  he  does  know  what  it  is  all 
about,  and  is  deceiving  you  when  he  says  otherwise." 

"What  has  all  this  to  do  with  me?"  Jim  Farland 
demanded.  "Did  you  have  me  brought  here  to  argue 
the  case  with  me?" 

"I  had  you  brought  here  because  I  want  you  to 
cease  working  for  Sidney  Prale.  I  want  you  to  go 
back  to  him  and  tell  him  that  you  are  done." 

"As  Coadley,  the  attorney,  did?" 

"Exactly!" 

"Your  people  must  be  men  of  influence  if  they 
can  buy  off  Coadley  like  that!" 

"Perhaps  Coadley  was  shown  that  it  would  wreck 
his  future  if  he  continued  working  for  Prale." 

"Well,  you  can't  wreck  my  future,  because  I 
haven't  any,"    Farland   told   him. 

"Do  not  be  too  sure  of  that,  Mr.  Farland.  Agree 
to  my  proposition  and  you  may  have  a  great  future. 
You  may  find  business  thrown  your  way.  You 
may  find  yourself  able  to  spread  out,  have  a  pro-  • 
tective  service,  become  a  wealthy  man.  If  you  give 
up  the  Prale  case,  we'll  see  that  you  are  paid  cash 
immediately,  of  course,  in  lieu  of  the  fee  you  would 
receive  from  Prale — and  considerably  more  than  he 
would   pay  you." 

"I  suppose  that  would  appeal  to  a  lot  of  men,** 
Jim  Farland  said,  "but  it  isn't  the  right  bait  to  use 


204  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

if  you  are  eager  to  catch  me.  I  have  all  the  business 
I  want.  I  can  make  a  living  for  myself  and  my  small 
family,  and  we  do  not  hanker  after  riches.  A  larger 
business  would  make  me  a  human  machine,  and  I'd 
rather  just  drift  along  and  be  an  ordinary  good 
husband  and  father.  I'd  rather  be  running  a  little, 
third-rate  detective  agency  as  I  am,  making  just 
enough  to  get  along,  and  have  a  lot  of  friends.  I 
wouldn't  throw  down  a  friend  for  a  million  dollars! 
I  suppose  I'm  the  only  man  in  town  that  thinks 
this  way,  but  I'm  a  sort  of  peculiar  duck!" 

"You  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  are  not  anxious 
to  better  yourself,  to  get  along  in  the  world?" 

"Oh,  I  manage  to  get  along!"  Jim  Farland  re- 
plied. "I  even  eat  meat  now  and  then.  I  haven't 
seen  the  face  of  the  famous  wolf  outside  my  door 
for   some   time.     What   is   money?" 

"Everything!"   the  masked  man   replied. 

"That's  what  you  think.  It  gives  me  an  inkling 
as  to  what  sort  of  man  you  are.  I  happen  to  know 
a  fellow  to  whom  money  is  everything — and  I  have 
reason  to  suspect  that  he  is  considerably  interested 
in  the  case  of  Sidney  Prale.  Be  careful  you  do  not 
betray  your  identity  to  me!" 

Farland  had  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  the  masked 
man  gasp,  and  he  chuckled. 

"Well,  what  is  the  proposition?"  Farland  inquired. 
"You   seem   to   vvaste  a   lot  of   time." 

"We  want  you  merely  to  tell  Sidney  Prale  that 
you  will  not  work  on  the  case  any  more — that  you 
are  done.      Then   go   about   your    regular   business. 


RECOGNITION  205 

We'll  have  you  watched,  and  as  soon  as  we  are 
satisfied  that  you  are  keeping  faith  with  us,  we'll 
send  you  ten  thousand  dollars  in  cash.  If  you  make 
the  agreement  with  me,  I'll  give  you  a  thousand 
cash  to-night  before  you  leave  this  place,  as  a  sort 
of  retainer  and  expression  of  our  sincerity.  Then, 
following  the  fee  of  ten  thousand  dollars,  you'll  find 
that  much  business  is  flowing  your  way.  All  you 
have  to  do  to  get  all  this  is  to  withdraw  from  the 
Prale  case  at  once." 

"You  must  be  afraid  that  I  am  finding  out  some 
things,"    Jim    Farland  suggested. 

"That  is  scarcely  the  reason,"  the  masked  man 
answered.  "We  want  Sidney  Prale  to  stand  alone, 
to  be  without  help  of  any  sort — that  is  all." 

"But  I  am  more  than  Sidney  Prale's  employee. 
I  am  his   friend!"   Farland  protested. 

"You  were  his  friend  ten  years  ago,  sir,  but  a 
man  may  change  a  great  deal  in  ten  years.  Are  you 
quite  sure  that  the  Sidney  Prale  of  to-day  is  the 
boyish,    friendly    Sidney  Prale    of    ten   years   ago?" 

"I  am  quite  sure;  and  that  is  why  I  am  trying 
to  help  him,"  Jim  Farland  declared. 

"I  fear  that  he  is  fooling  you — as  he  is  deceiving 
others.  He  is  not  worthy  of  such  friendship  as  you 
are  giving  him." 

"How  do  I  know  that?"  Farland  asked.  "If  I 
could  have  some  sort  of  an  explanation " 

He  awaited  the  other's  reply.  If  he  could  get 
some  inkling  as  to  why  Prale  had  powerful  enemies, 
it  might  help  a  lot. 

"I   can   tell   you  this   much:     Sidney   Prale   did 


2o6  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

something  that  wrecked  and  ruined  several  lives. 
Certain  prominent  persons  have  decided  to  punish 
him.  He  is  to  have  his  life  made  miserable,  he  is 
to  have  his  fortune  taken  away  from  him,  he  is  to 
be  subjected  to  petty  annoyances  and  hard  blows  alike, 
driven  from  this,  his  home  town,  forced  to  realize 
that  a  man  cannot  do  what  he  did  and  escape  retri- 
bution." 

"Sounds  like  he  murdered  a  nation!"  Jim  Farland 
commented.  "Did  he  wreck  the  national  treasury 
or  turn  traitor  to  the  flag?" 

"I  am  not  jesting,  Mr.  Farland." 

"Neither  am  I.  My  eyes  have  got  to  be  opened, 
sir.  You've  got  to  come  clean  with  me.  Prale's 
enemies  may  strike  at  him  from  the  dark,  but  Jim 
Farland  never  works  in  the  dark!  I  want  to  see 
where  I'm  stepping.  I  never  like  to  trip  over  any- 
thing." 

**I  have  told  you  all  that  I  can  at  present." 

"Why?" 

"Because  I  do  not  care  to  give  you  information 
if  you  are  still  to  work  for  Prale." 

"You  say  that  Prale  knows  his  enemies  and  why 
they  are  fighting  him.  If  he  does,  he  never  has 
told  me.  Tell  me  that  much — since  you  say  Sid 
Prale  knows  it  already.  It  couldn't  hurt  your  side 
at  all." 

"We  might  tell  you  later." 

"You've  got  some  very  good  reason  for  not  telling 
me!"  Farland  accused.  "It  is  the  truth,  isn't  it,  that 
Prale  does  not  know  a  single  thing  about  it.  You 
are  afraid  to  tell  me  because  I  may  inform  him  of 


RECOGNITION  207 

what  you  say,  and  we  may  straighten  out  the  tangle? 
I  can  see  through  you,  sir,  as  easily  as  through  a 
newly  cleaned  window." 

"I  see  that  you  have  faith  in  Sidney  Prale,"  the 
masked  man  said.  "But  I  assure  you  that  your  faith 
is  misplaced.  Is  there  any  way  in  which  I  can  get 
you  to  stop  your  work  for  him?" 

"Meaning  against  his  influential  enemies,  or  on 
the  Rufus  Shepley  murder  case?"  Farland  asked. 

"We  simply  want  you  to  stop  working  for  him. 
If  he  stands  alone,  we  can  punish  him  the  sooner." 

"I  understand  about  that,  of  course.  But  how 
about  the  murder  case?  Do  you  think  Sid  Prale 
is  guilty  of   that  crime?"   Farland  asked. 

"I  do  not  know,  I  am  sure.  I  understand  that 
the  evidence  against  him  is  damaging.  But  we  are 
not  awaiting  the  outcome  of  that.  He  may  manage 
to  have  the  charge  against  him  dismissed,  and  we 
are   going   ahead   with   our   plans    for   punishment." 

"Then  you  want  me  to  quit  Prale  so  I  won't  be 
helping  him  work  against  his  enemies,  and  not  be- 
cause you  are  afraid  that,  in  clearing  him  of  the 
murder  charge,  I  may  find  something  detrimental  to 
other  persons?" 

"That  is  the  idea,"  the  masked  man  replied.  "The 
murder  case  can  take  care  of  itself,  I  suppose." 

"Suppose  I  refuse  to  make  this  deal  with  you?" 

"In  that  event,  we  may  feel  called  upon  to  detain 
you — and  perhaps  to  use  further  violence." 

"Then  you  might  as  well  start!"  Jim  Farland 
cried.  "For  you  are  lying  to  me  like  blazes!  It's 
the  murder  case  that's  worrying  you,  and  you  know 


2o8  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

it!  And  I  know  you!  I've  been  trying  to  place  those 
hands  of  yours  and  I  have  succeeded.  Besides,  you 
have   said   one   or   two   things   that  have   convinced 

me 

The  masked  man  gave  a  shriek  and  started  toward 
the  couch,  his  hands  reaching  out,  clutching.  Two 
of  the  thugs  ran  in  from  the  hall. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

AN    UNEXPECTED   VISITOR 

"Vf  7AITING  in  anticipation  of  hearing  good  news, 

»▼  Sidney  Prale  paced  the  floor  of  the  living 
room  of  his  hotel  suite  until  noon  the  following  day, 
expecting  Jim  Farland  to  put  in  an  appearance  at 
any  time  and  make  his  report. 

Murk,  having  done  all  the  work  that  there  was  to 
do,  spent  the  most  of  his  time  looking  from  the 
window  at  the  busy,  fashionable  avenue,  and  glancing 
now  and  then  at  Prale  as  if  wishing  to  anticipate 
his  wishes  and  save  him  the  trouble  of  voicing 
them. 

Prale  had  luncheon  served  in  the  suite,  and  then 
he  stepped  to  the  telephone  and  called  Jim  Farland' s 
office.  Farland's  stenographer  informed  him  that  the 
detective  had  not  been  there  during  the  morning, 
though  there  was  some  business  that  needed  his  at- 
tention. 

Then  Prale  got  Farland's  residence  on  the  tele- 
phone, and  the  detective's  wife  answered  the  call. 
Prale  gave  his  name,  and  asked  where  Jim  could 
be    found. 

"That  is  more  than  I  can  tell,  Mr.  Prale,"  Mrs. 
Farland  said.  "He  got  a  telephone  call  last  evening, 
and  from  what  I  overheard  I  think  he  went  some 
place  to  meet  a  man.    He  left  soon  after  he  received 


210  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

the  call,  and  I  have  not  heard  from  him  since. 
That  is  peculiar,  too.  When  he  is  obliged  to  remain 
away,  he  generally  finds  time  to  telephone  and  let 
me  know." 

This  conversation  bothered  Sidney  Prale,  but  he 
tried  to  tell  himself  that  Farland  was  following  a 
hot  trail,  and  that  perhaps  it  had  led  him  some 
distance  away,  or  that  he  was  in  a  locality  where 
he   did   not   care   to   telephone. 

He  did  not  want  to  miss  Farland  if  he  did  call, 
and  so  he  remained  at  the  hotel  during  the  after- 
noon and  kept  Murk  there  also. 

"I  have  a  hunch  that  something  is  going  to  happen 
soon,"  Prale  said  to  his  valet 

"A  little  action  wouldn't  make  me  mad  any!" 
Murk  declared.  *T'm  spoilin'  to  mix  with  the  enemy, 
Mr.  Prale.  Most  of  all,  I'd  like  to  meet  up  with 
them  two  thugs  that  got  gay  with  us.  You're  sure 
about  that  Jim  Farland,  boss?" 

"I've  told  you  a  hundred  times,  Murk,  that  Jim 
Farland  is  my  friend  and  as  square  a  man  as  you 
can  find  anywhere.  He  has  not  deserted  us,  if  that 
is  the  thought  in  your  head." 

"I'm  beginnin'  to  like  him  a  bit  myself,"  said 
Murk.  "Ain't  you  got  any  idea,  boss,  who's  en- 
gineerin'  this  deal  against  you?" 

"Once  more,  Murk,  old  boy,  allow  me  to  state 
that  I  haven't  the  faintest  idea  who  my  enemies 
are,  or  why  they  are  trying  so  hard  to  make  life 
miserable  for  me.  If  I  knew  where  to  start  to 
round  them  up,  I  wouldn't  be  standing  in  this  room 
talking  to  you — I'd  be  out  rounding  them  up!" 


AN  UNEXPECTED  VISITOR  211 

"Well,  if  you  ask  me,  I  think  it's  about  time  that 
Farland  settled  that  murder  case,"  Murk  said.  "If 
he  don't  get  busy  pretty  quick,  I'll  tackle  it  myself. 
I've  got  an  idea " 

The  ringing  of  the  telephone  bell  cut  his  sentence 
off.  Sidney  Prale  was  near  the  instrument,  and  he 
answered  the  call. 

"Mr.   Prale?"  asked  a  man's  voice. 

"Talking." 

"I  just  wanted  to  inform  you  that  you  needn't 
depend  on  Detective  Jim  Farland  any  more.  We've 
got  him — ^and  we'll  get  anybody  else  you  engage. 
And  we'll  get  you,  too,  Mr.  Prale,  before  very 
long.     Don't  think  we'll  not!" 

The  man  at  the  other  end  of  the  wire  hung  up  his 
receiver.  Prale  paced  the  floor  and  told  Murk  of 
the  conversation. 

"They've  got  Farland!"  Prale  exclaimed.  "They 
probably  got  him  last  night,  decoyed  him  in  some 
way.  Well,  Murk,  if  that  is  the  truth,  and  I  im- 
agine that  it  is,  we'll  have  to  do  our  sleuthing  our- 
selves." 

"Suits  me !"  Murk  said.  "I'm  ready  to  start  out 
right  now  and  sleuth  until  it's  settled.  Let's  get  in 
action,  boss!" 

"We  are  in  the  same  old  quandary,  Murk.  We 
don't  know  where  to  start,"  Sidney  Prale  said.  "If 
our  foes  would  come  out  in  the  open,  instead  of 
fighting  from  the  dark,  we  might  have  a  chance. 
This  is  some  city.  Murk,  and  there  are  several 
million  persons  in  it  and  around  it.     Starting  right 


212  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

in  such  a  maze  isn't  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world, 
you  know." 

For  the  second  time  that  afternoon,  Murk  was 
interrupted  by  the  ringing  of  the  telephone  bell,  and 
once  more  Sidney  Prale  happened  to  be  near  and 
answered  the  call. 

"Send  them   up  at  once!"  Murk  heard  him   say. 

And  then  Sidney  Prale  hung  up  the  receiver  and 
whirled  around  with  a  puzzled  expression  on  his 
face. 

"Murk,"  he  said,  "Miss  Kate  Gilbert  is  coming  up 
here  with  that  big  maid  of  hers — coming  to  see  me. 
What  she  wants  is  more  than  I  can  guess,  remem- 
bering what  happened  the  last  time  I  talked  with 
her.      It   may  be   good   news,   Murk!" 

They  waited  impatiently  for  the  ring  at  the  door. 
Murk  opened  it  and  ushered  them  in. 

He  grinned  at  the  gigantic  Marie,  but  she  did  not 
return  the  compliment.  There  was  a  serious  ex- 
pression in  her  face,  and  Murk  looked  past  her  at 
Kate  Gilbert,  who  was  being  greeted  by  Sidney  Prale. 

Something  important  had  happened.  Murk  told 
himself  immediately,  Kate  Gilbert  did  not  look 
frightened  exactly  or  sorrowful  or  triumphant.  There 
was  a  peculiar  expression  about  her  mouth,  and  her 
face  seemed  pale. 

"I  felt  that  I  had  to  come,  Mr.  Prale,  and  have 
this  talk  with  you,"  Kate  Gilbert  said,  when  she 
was  seated  near  the  window.  "I  wanted  to  speak  to 
you  here  instead  of  in  some  public  place,  and  so  I 
brought  Marie  and  came  to  your  suite." 

"You   are    welcome,    Miss    Gilbert,    I   am    sure," 


AN  UNEXPECTED  VISITOR  213 

Prale  said.  "If  you  wish  to  speak  in  private,  Marie 
and   Murk  can   step  into  the  adjoining   room." 

"Please,"  she  said  softly. 

Murk  opened  the  door,  and  the  maid  stepped  in. 
Then  he  followed  and  closed  the  door  again.  Prale 
sat  down  near  Kate  Gilbert  and  turned  toward  her. 

"Now,  Miss   Gilbert,"   he   prompted. 

She  met  his  eyes  squarely  as  she  spoke,  but  her 
lips  trembled  at  times  as  if  she  were  undergoing 
an  ordeal. 

"Mr.  Prale,"  she  said,  "as  you  know,  I  have 
been  associated  with  others  in  an  attempt  to  bring 
retribution  home  to  you.  When  I  became  associated 
with  them,  it  was  understood  between  us  that  there 
was  to  be  no  violence,  nothing  outside  the  law.  We 
were  simply  to  attack  you  from  every  angle,  cause 
you  trouble  and  annoyance,  take  away  your  money 
if  we  could,   break  you   in  every   way." 

"Pardon   me,   but " 

"Please  say  nothing  until  I  am  finished,  Mr.  Prale. 
We  began  at  once  to  gather  all  the  information 
we  could  about  you  and  your  affairs.  We  began 
to  plan  for  your  downfall.  We  found  that  we  could 
do  nothing  that  amounted  to  anything  while  you  were 
in  Honduras,  where  you  were  a  powerful  man.  But 
we  were  about  to  try,  even  there,  when  we  learned 
that  you  were  selling  out  your  properties  and  pre- 
paring to  return  to  New  York. 

"You  may  know  how  that  struck  us.  You  had 
gone  away  and  made  your  fortune,  and  you  were 
coming  home,  possibly  with  the  hope  that  the  past 
had  been  forgotten.     We  intended  showing  you  that 


214  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

it  had  not  been  forgotten,  that  you  could  not  return 

and   enjoy   the  fortune   whose    foundation   was 

But  enough  of  that! 

"I  had  been  in  Honduras  spying  upon  you.  I 
was  sent  because  you  did  not  know  me,  and  would 
not  be  on  guard,  as  you  might  have  been,  had  some 
man  gone  down  there.  We  did  not  care  to  send 
an  ordinary  detective,  of  course.  I  kept  the  people 
here  informed  of  all  your  movements.  I  began  the 
punishment  by  leaving  that  note  in  your  stateroom 
and  pasting  the  other  on  your  suit  case,  began  it  by 
reminding  you  that  the  past  lived  in  the  minds  of 
some  persons. 

"You  know  the  rest.  We  began  our  work.  We 
caused  you  annoyance  from  the  first,  with  the  banker, 
the  hotel  manager,  and  all  that.  Before  we  could 
do  any  more,  you  were  accused  of  murder.  That 
pleased  us,  of  course.  We  did  not  believe  you  guilty, 
but  we  were  glad  to  see  that  you  were  being  caused 
some  trouble,  that  your  name  was  being  stained. 
Some  of  us  even  began  to  think  that  the  law  of  retri- 
bution was  at  Vork  itself,  without  our  poor  help. 

"We  went  ahead  with  our  plans,  however.  You 
engaged  a  prominent  attorney,  and  finally  we  in- 
duced him  to  leave  you.  But  some  who  were  han- 
dling the  affair  went  too  far.  You  were  assaulted 
in  Central  Park.  Your  valet  was  knocked  on  the 
head  and  kidnaped,  and  an  attempt  made  to  get  him 
to  take  payment  and  spy  upon  you.  At  that  time 
I  told  a  certain  man  who  had  the  handling  of  the 
affair  that  there   could  be   no   more  violence. 

"We    should   not   break   a   law    to   undo   you,    I 


AN  UNEXPECTED  VISITOR  215 

declared.  If  we  did  that,  we  were  as  bad  as  you. 
I  said  that,  if  there  was  any  more  violence,  I  should 
cease  having  anything  to  do  with  the  affair,  and 
would  come  to  you  and  tell  you  so.  An  hour  ago, 
I  found  out  that  Detective  Farland,  a  man  in  your 
employ,  had  been  seized  and  treated  with  violence 
and  was  being  held  prisoner  because  he  insisted  upon 
remaining  loyal  to  you.     So  I  am  here!" 

"This  is  amazing.  Miss  Gilbert!"  Sidney  Praia 
told  her.  "The  whole  thing  has  been  amazing. 
Somebody  has  tried  to  connect  me  with  that  murder. 
Somebody  tried  to  smash  my  alibi.  The  little  an- 
noyances were  bad  enough,  and  the  knowledge  that 
I  had  unknown  foes  who  fought  in  the  dark;  but 
the  murder  charge  was  the  worst  of  all,  for  it  placed 
me  in  a  position  where  I  had  to  clear  myself  abso- 
lutely or  remain  forever  suspected  by  many  persons." 

*'I  understand  that,"  Kate  Gilbert  said. 

"And  now  you  have  come  to  me  to  say  that  you 
are  no  longer  associated  with  my  enemies?" 

"For  what  you  did,  there  can  be  no  forgiveness, 
Mr.  Prale.  I  want  to  see  you  punished.  But  I  will 
not  be  a  party  to  violence.  It  seems  to  me  that  the 
man  who  has  been  managing  this  affair  has  gone 
beyond  proper  bounds.  For  some  reason,  he  is  par- 
ticularly vindictive,  though  he  did  not  suffer  at  all, 
as  did  some  of  the  others.  I  cannot  forgive  you 
for  what  you  did,  Sidney  Prale.  But  I  can  wash 
my  hands  of  the  entire  affair  and  try  to  forget  you 
entirely  and  hope  that  there  is  a  law  of  retribution 
that  will  take  vengeance  for  me.     That  is  all,  Mr. 


2i6  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

Prale.  Only  please  remember  that,  from  this  hour, 
I  am  not  concerned  with  the  others  in  this  affair," 

She  started  to  rise,  but  Prale  motioned  for  her 
to  retain  her  seat.  He  bent  forward  and  looked 
at  her  searchingly. 

"I  am  very  glad  that  you  have  come  here  and 
spoken  to  me  in  this  way.  Miss  Gilbert,"  he  said. 
"I  scarcely  know  how  to  express  what  I  feel  that 
I  must  tell  you.  I  have  listened  to  you  patiently, 
without  interruption.  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to 
listen  to  me   for  a  moment  now?" 

"I'll  listen,  though  it  will  be  useless,"  she  said. 

"When  I  left  Honduras,  Miss  Gilbert,  I  was  a 
happy  man.  I  had  made  my  pile  and  was  coming 
home.  I  had  left  ten  years  before  because  a  selfish 
woman,  whom  I  imagined  I  loved,  jilted  me  for  a 
wealthier  man.  That  wound  had  healed,  and  when 
I  left  Honduras,  I  did  not  think  that  I  had  an  enemy 
in  the  world,  unless  it  was  some  poor  devil  of  a 
disgruntled  native  workman  I  had  been  forced  to 
discharge,  or  somebody  like  that. 

"I  believed  those  notes  on  the  ship  to  be  in  the 
nature  of  a  jest,  or  else  that  somebody  was  making 
a  mistake.  Then  troubles  began,  and  I  was  at  a 
loss  to  understand  them.  Next  came  the  murder 
charge!  We  will  put  that  aside  for  the  moment,  for 
it  seems  to  be  the  result  of  circumstantial  evidence 
and  probably  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  other  affair 
— merely  a   coincidence. 

"Miss  Gilbert,  look  at  me!  I  want  you  to  believe 
what  I  am  going  to  say.  You  must  believe  it!  In 
the  name  of  everything  I  hold  sacred,  I  swear  to  you 


AN  UNEXPECTED  VISITOR  217 

that  I  do  not  know  these  foes  of  mine,  or  the  reason 
for  their  enmity!" 

"How  can  I  believe  that?"  she  cried.  "Why  should 
you   ask   me    to    believe   such   a    statement?" 

"Because  I  want  some  hght  on  this  subject,  Miss 
Gilbert,  and  I  am  determined  to  get  it.  There  is 
some  terrible  mistake.  I  am  being  punished  for  the 
fault  of  some  other  person." 

"Can  you  not  remember  back  ten  years?"  she 
asked. 

"Easily.  I  can  live  over  again  the  last  day  I 
spent  in  New  York  ten  years  ago." 

"And   the   few   days   before   that  time?" 

"Certainly,    Miss    Gilbert." 

"And  yet  you  ask  why  others  should  seek  to  punish 
you?  Perhaps  you  are  one  of  those  men  whose 
natures  are  so  dishonorable  that  you  think  you  did 
nothing  wrong  at  that  time." 

"So  it  was  then  that  I  was  supposed  to  have  done 
this  terrible  thing — whatever  it  was?" 

"As  you  know,  Mr.  Prale." 

"But  I  do  not  know,  Miss  Gilbert.  To  the  best 
of  my  recollection  I  left  New  York  without  having 
done  anything  in  the  least  dishonorable ;  and  certainly 
I  did  nothing  to  merit  a  band  of  enemies  working 
against  me," 

"What  is  it  that  you  wish  me  to  do?"  she  asked. 

"Be  fair  with  me,  Miss  Gilbert.  I  tell  you  that 
there  is  some  terrible  mistake!  If  I  am  supposed 
to  know  all  about  this,  what  harm  can  there  be  in 
your  repeating  the  details  to  me?  Tell  me  what 
crime  I  am  supposed  to  have  committed  to  merit  this 


2i8  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

attack.  Give  me  a  chance  to  prove  my  innocence! 
The  common  thug  gets  that  chance  in  a  court  of 
law,  you  know." 

"But  this  is  ridiculous!"  she  exclaimed.  "There 
can  be  no  question  of  it!  The  whole  thing  came  out 
at  the  time." 

"Then  you  do  not  wish  to  be  fair?"  Prale  asked. 

*T  cannot  allow  you  to  say  that.  I  will  tell  the 
story  to  you,  Mr.  Prale,  tell  exactly  what  you  did — 
as  you  know  very  well — if  that  will  be  any  satis- 
faction to  you.  But  it  will  do  you  no  good  to 
deny  it!" 

"Tell  me!"  Sidney  Prale  said. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A    STARTLING     STORY 

THIS  is  a  painful  subject  for  me,  as  you  must 
be  aware,"  Kate  Gilbert  said.  "I  shall  tell  the 
story  in  as  few  words  as  possible,  and  if  you  are  a 
gentleman,  you  will  not  interrupt  or  cause  me  more 
suffering  by  protesting  your   innocence." 

"I  promise  not  to  interrupt,"  Sidney  Prale  replied. 
*'I   want   justice   and   nothing  more,    Miss    Gilbert." 

"Ten  years  ago  you  were  a  clerk  in  the  office 
of  Griffin,  the  big  broker,   were  you  not?" 

"Yes." 

"Mr.  Griffin  took  a  fancy  to  you,  after  your 
father  died  and  left  you  alone  in  the  world  without 
any  money.  He  gave  you  odd  jobs  to  do  around 
his  residence,  fed  and  clothed  you  and  arranged  it 
so  that  you  could  go  to  school.  Your  uncle,  the 
father  of  George  Lerton,  your  cousin,  would  do 
nothing  for  you  because  there  had  been  a  family 
quarrel  several  years  before. 

"Had  it  not  been  for  Mr.  Griffin  you  might  have 
been  an  ordinary  street  Arab.  He  sent  you  to  a 
business  college  after  you  had  finished  the  public 
schools,  and  then  he  took  you  into  his  office  and 
started  you  on  a  business  career. 

"You  showed  great  promise,  and  Mr.  Griffin  was 
delighted  and  advanced  you   rapidly.     You   seemed 


220  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

to  know  the  meaning  of  gratitude  and  worked  hard. 
You  were  ambitious,  too — always  said  that  some 
day  you  would  be  worth  a  million  dollars. 

"Step  by  step,  you  went  up  the  ladder.  Then  it 
happened  that  your  cousin,  George  Lerton,  obtained 
a  position  in  the  same  office  after  his  father's  death. 
He  had  had  the  advantage  of  a  college  education 
and  knew  how  to  handle  himself  in  the  presence 
of  other  men,  and  yet  you,  after  your  early  strug- 
gle and  with  an  inferior  education  and  inferior  op- 
portunities, easily  outdistanced  him, 

"Other  men  began  talking  about  you  as  a  coming 
man — bankers  and  brokers,  business  men  and  finan- 
ciers. Mr.  Griffin  finally  gave  you  the  post  of  chief 
clerk  and  adviser.  You  worked  hard  and  seemed  to 
be  loyal  and  faithful.  You  got  profits  for  your  em- 
ployer where  other  men  would  have  caused  losses. 
So  he  let  you  more  and  more  into  his  confidence. 

"You  got  to  know  the  secrets  of  big  deals,  the 
inside  facts  of  the  country's  finance.  You  spoke  in 
millions,  but  got  only  a  nice  salary.  Your  ambition 
to  be  worth  a  million  dollars  seemed  to  be  not  sus- 
ceptible of  gratification.  Yet  you  saved  money,  and 
took  advantage  of  small,  solid  investments  now  and 
then. 

"After  a  while  you  met  a  girl  and  fell  in  love 
with  her.  She  was  the  sort  who  wished  wealth  above 
all,  and  you  soon  found  that  out.  You  became  en- 
gaged to  her,  however.  Then  a  rival  appeared  in 
the  field,  a  wealthier  man.  You  realized  that  the 
girl  was  shallow  in  that  she  favored  the  man  with 
more  money,   but  you  were  so  infatuated  that  you 


A  STARTLING  STORY  221 

overlooked  that.  You  wanted  the  girl  and,  to  get 
her,  you  had  to  have  more  money. 

"Then  you  began  to  feel  dissatisfied.  You  didn^t 
want  to  grow  gradually,  as  other  men  did.  You 
wanted  the  foundation  for  a  fortune — enough  to 
use  in  a  plunge  in  the  market.  You  wanted  to  be 
rich  as  soon  as  possible. 

"You  began  to  think,  perhaps,  that  you  were  not 
getting  ahead.  You  worked  in  an  atmosphere  of 
wealth,  you  heard  men  speak  in  terms  of  millions, 
while  you  had  less  than  ten  thousand  dollars  in  the 
bank.  You  began  to  think  that  Mr.  Griffin  should 
do  more  for  you,  that  he  had  not  done  enough. 
You  forgot  that  he  had  picked  you  up  and  made 
you  what  you  were,  that  you  had  so  much  more 
than  other  men  who  had  not  been  equally  fortunate 
in  finding  a  sponsor." 

She  ceased  speaking  for  a  moment,  but  Sidney 
Prale  never  took  his  eyes  from  her  face.  Be  un- 
grateful to  Griffin?  He  never  had  dreamed  of  that! 
He  always  had  worshiped  Griffin  for  what  the  broker 
had  done  for  him;  he  realized  what  he  might  have 
been  only  for  Griffin.  But  he  had  promised  not 
to  interrupt,  and  so  he  said  nothing,  merely  waited 
for  Kate  Gilbert  to  continue  her  recital. 

"You  made  certain  plans,"  she  went  on.  "Certain 
big  business  deals  were  in  the  wind,  and,  as  Mr. 
Griffin's  confidential  and  chief  clerk,  you  knew  all 
about  them.  There  were  millions  of  dollars  involved, 
the  control  of  several  large  companies,  and  more 
than  that;  for  Mr.  Griffin  and  his  associates  were 
fighting  a  group  of  financial  thieves  who  were  trying 


222  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

to  wreck  excellent  properties  for  the  sake  of  mak- 
ing a  gain.  It  was  a  fight  for  more  than  money — 
it  was  a  fight  to  keep  big  business  honest,  to  drive 
off  the  wolves  and  make  finance  solid.  It  was  a 
tremendous   thing ! 

"And  you,  a  boy  picked  up  and  educated  by  a 
broker,  who  had  risen  through  his  kindness,  knew 
as  much  of  the  big  deal  contemplated  as  some  of 
the  wealthiest  and  most  influential  men  of  the  country. 
There  were  men  in  the  other  group  who  would  have 
given  a  million  gladly  to  know  what  you,  a  clerk, 
knew. 

"You  were  approached  by  one  of  that  band  of 
financial  wolves.  You  were  willing  to  listen.  You 
wanted  money  because  the  girl  with  whom  you  were 
infatuated  demanded  it  before  she  would  marry  you. 
You  believed  that  Griffin  had  not  done  enough  for 
you  and  you  agreed  to  sell  him  out — him  and  his 
associates." 

Sidney  Prale  gasped,  sat  up  straight  in  his  chair, 
opened  his  mouth  as  if  to  speak,  but  did  not  when 
he  saw  the  expression  in  her  face.  He  decided  to 
keep  his  word. 

"The  agreement  was  made,"  she  went  on.  "And 
you,  who  could  have  demanded  half  a  million  easily 
for  the  information  you  had,  sold  out  your  benefactor 
and  his  friends  and  the  decent  element  on  the  Street 
for  a  paltry  hundred  thousand  1  You  sold  your  honor 
and  your  manhood  for  that. 

"At  this  juncture,  the  woman  in  the  case  informed 
you  that  she  wished  to  break  the  engagement,  be- 


A  STARTLING  STORY  22Z 

cause  a  man  of  money-— your  rival— had  asked  her 
to  marry  him,  and  she  wanted  his  wealth.  Instead 
of  seeing  what  sort  of  woman  she  was— instead  of 
coming  to  your  senses  then  and  stopping  your  deal 
with  the  other  side — ^you  took  the  opposite  course. 
You  would  take  the  money,  betray  your  benefactor 
and  his  friends,  and  leave  the  country!  With  that 
money  as  a  foundation,  you  would  build  up  a  fortune. 
And  that  is  what  you  did,   Sidney  Prale! 

"You  arranged  everything  nicely.  You  gave  those 
men  the  information  and  received  your  hundred  thou- 
sand and  then  you  quit  your  job  and  sailed  away  to 
Honduras. 

"The  battle  began  on  the  Street,  and  because  of 
the  information  you  had  sold  them,  the  financial 
wolves  got  the  better  of  the  honest  element.  It  was 
a  battle  that  lasted  for  two  weeks.  The  wolves  met 
every  move,  because  they  knew  everything  that  had 
been  planned.  Fortunes  were  lost  overnight.  A 
score  of  big,  decent  men  were  ruined  in  their  attempt 
to  defeat  the  wolves  and  keep  finance  clean. 

"Mr.  Griffin,  the  man  who  had  done  everything 
for  you,  went  down  in  the  crash — because  you  had 
sold  him  out!  It  was  only  five  years  ago  that  he 
got  new  backing  and  fought  his  way  up  again. 
Others  went  down  with  him,  and  some  never  regained 
their  footing — because  of  what  you  had  done,  be- 
cause you  had  played  traitor!  They  knew  there  had 
been  a  leak,  and  there  was  an  investigation.  You 
had  sailed  away  the  day  before  the  fight  began,  and 
that  looked  suspicious,   for  you  had  made  up  your 


224  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

mind  suddenly.  Finally  it  was  discovered  that  you 
were  the  traitor  in  the  camp! 

"My  father  was  one  of  Mr.  Griffin's  associates, 
Mr.  Prale.  He  lost  his  fortune,  of  course.  We 
could  have  endured  that,  but  the  blow  cost  him 
his  health.  He  was  a  giant  of  a  man  at  that  time, 
the  best  father  in  the  world.  You  should  see  him 
now,  Mr.  Prale — see  what  your  treason  made  of 
him.  He  is  an  invalid  who  sits  all  day  in  his  wheel 
chair.  At  times  his  mind  wanders  and  he  fights 
that  battle  over  again  and  calls  curses  down  upon 
the  head  of  the  man  who  played  traitor!  My  big, 
handsome,  rich  father  is  a  broken,  thin-faced  man 
whose  voice  is  a  whisper  and  whose  hands  tremble 
— because  of  what  you  did.     You  beast!" 

She  began  sobbing  softly  as  she  glanced  through 
the  window,  and  Sidney  Prale  started  to  get  out  of 
his  chair.  But  she  faced  him  again  quickly  and 
motioned  for  him  to  remain  silent. 

"You  wanted  to  hear  it,  and  so  I  shall  tell  it  all !" 
she  declared.  "You  had  been  clever;  you  had  done 
this  thing  in  such  a  manner  than  the  law  could  not 
touch  you.  Yet  you  must  have  been  afraid  of  it, 
for  you  fled  the  country.  It  was  some  time  before 
things  were  adjusted,  and  then  those  men  you  had 
betrayed  got  together  and  determined  to  make  you 
pay! 

"They  told  the  story  to  others,  and  they  began 
gathering  information  about  you.  You  were  making 
your  million,  all  right,  on  the  foundation  that  had 
wrecked  a  score  of  fortunes  and  lives — on  treason 


A  STARTLING  STORY  225 

instead  of  superior  financial  ability — and  they  swore 
that  you  should  pay. 

"They  knew  my  father's  story,  of  course,  and 
knew  that  we  had  very  litle  money.  So  they  provided 
for  him,  and  gave  me  funds  and  sent  me  to  Hon- 
duras to  spy  upon  you.  Marie,  my  maid  since  girl- 
hood, who  worshiped  my  father  and  knew  all  the 
circumstances,  went  with  me.  Soon  after  I  reached 
Honduras,  I  found  that  you  were  selling  out  with 
the  intention  of  returning  to  New  York  and  enjoy- 
ing your  million. 

"I  communicated  with  the  others  and  told  them 
all  I  knew  of  your  plans,  whereupon  they  made  some 
plans  of  their  own.  They  won  the  sympathy  of  the 
most  influential  men  in  the  city.  They  determined 
to   make   you  pay! 

"That  is  why  the  big  trust  company  would  not 
accept  your  account.  A  whisper  in  the  ear  of  the 
hotel  manager  by  the  president  of  the  company 
that  owned  the  hotel,  and  you  were  as  good  as  or- 
dered out.  Can  you  understand  now,  Sidney  Prale? 
Coadley,  the  lawyer,  was  told  that  he  will  be  made 
a  nobody  by  the  influential  men  of  the  town  unless 
he  ceased  to  work  for  you,  and  he  dropped  your  case. 

"But  there  was  to  be  no  violence,  and  because  they 
have  descended  to  that,  I  have  ceased  to  be  interested 
in  the  affair.  I  know  nothing  about  the  Shepley 
murder  case  or  any  trouble  it  may  have  caused  you. 
That  is  quite  another  matter.  Now  that  I  have  told 
my  story,  I  hope  that  you  are  satisfied.  It  has 
shown  you,  I  trust,  that  I  know  all,  and  that  any 
falsehood  you  may  utter  will  have  no  effect  on  me.'* 


226  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

"I  do  not  intend  uttering  a  falsehood,  Miss  Gil- 
bert," Sidney  Prale  assured  her.  "What  you  have 
said  has  amazed  and  shocked  me.  So  that  is  why 
I  was  treated  so  badly  upon  returning  to  my  home  ?" 

"Exactly,"  she  said. 

"Now  listen  to  me  one  moment,  I  beg  of  you. 
There  is  some  mystery  here,  and  though  it  is  ten 
years  old,  I  shall  solve  it.  Miss  Gilbert — whether 
you  believe  me  or  not — I  am  not  guilty  of  such 
treachery.  I  had  no  dealings  with  the  financial 
wolves.  When  I  left  the  United  States  I  took  with 
me  the  ten  thousand  dollars  I  had  saved — nothing 
more.     And  I  left  nothing  behind." 

"You  made  a  million  in  ten  years  with  a  capital 
of   ten   thousand?"    she   asked,    with   a  slight   sneer. 

"I  did.  Miss  Gilbert!  I  can  prove  every  transac- 
tion, show  you  or  anybody  else  exactly  how  I  did  it. 
Disbelieve  me  or  not,  it  is  the  truth  that  I  am 
innocent.  If  my  people  were  sold  out  at  that  time, 
somebody  else  got  the  selling  price.  I  was  chagrined 
because  my  love  affair  had  gone  wrong,  I  shook 
the  dust  of  New  York  from  my  feet.  I  did  not 
even  look  at  a  New  York  newspaper  for  more  than 
a  year.  Somebody  else  got  the  money,  and  I  got 
a  nasty  name.  And  Mr.  Griffin,  who  was  as  a  father 
to  me,  thinks  that  I  was  an  ungrateful  cur! 

"This  thing  is  hard  to  believe.  Miss  Gilbert.  But 
I  never  can  thank  you  enough  for  telling  me.  I  am 
going  to  clear  myself  before  I  am  done." 

"I  cannot  believe  you,  Mr.  Prale !  The  proof  was 
there!" 


A  STARTLING  STORY  227 

"And  who  furnished  it?"  he  demanded.  "Who  is 
handling  this  campaign  of  vengeance  against  me 
now?" 

"You  scarcely  can  expect  me  to  tell  you  that," 
she  said.  "I  am  done — have  nothing  more  to  do 
with  the  affair — ^but  I  am  not  going  to  be  a  traitor, 
as  you  were!" 

"If  you  ever  are  convinced,  Miss  Gilbert,  that  I 
am  entirely  innocent,  that  somebody  has  put  this 
stain  upon  me  for  their  own  reasons,  can  I  count 
upon  your  friendship?" 

"Convince  me  that  injustice  has  been  done  you, 
Mr.  Prale,  and  I'll  do  everything  in  my  power  to 
make  amends — and  so  will  all  the  others!" 

"Thanks  for  that  assurance,"  Prale  said.  "I  am 
going  to  clear  myself  in  your  eyes,  and  in  the  eyes 
of  the  others.  I  remember  the  details  of  that  big 
deal  perfectly  and  I  shall  know  how  to  start  to 
work." 

"I  cannot  understand  this,"  she  said.  "You  speak 
as  if  you  were  indeed  innocent,  but  I  cannot  be- 
lieve it!" 

"I  am  innocent!" 

"If  so,  who  is  guilty?" 

"That  is  what  I  intend  finding  out." 

"But  you  were  in  their  confidence — you  knew  all 
the  details  of  their  financial  plans,"  Kate  Gilbert  said. 
"You  were  the  only  one  who  could  have  betrayed 
them.  You  scarcely  expect  me  to  believe  that  they 
betrayed   themselves." 

"Any  spying  clerk  in  the  Griffin  offices  could  have 


228  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

told  the  enemy  enough  to  betray  the  plans,"  Prale 
replied.  "By  the  way,  who  is  this  man  who  goes 
too  far  and  insists  upon  using  violence?  Who  is 
the  man  who  seems  to  be  so  extraordinary  vindictive 
toward  me  in  this  affair?" 

"I  can  tell  you  nothing  more,"  she  declared.  "It 
would  not  be  fair  to  them." 

"But  they  have  Jim  Farland,  and  Heaven  knows 
what  they  are  doing  to  him,  simply  because  he  will 
not  turn  against  me.  Is  it  fair  to  Jim  Farland's 
wife  and  child?" 

"I — I  am  being  kept  informed,"  she  assured  him. 
"If  they  treat  Mr.  Farland  badly,  or  detain  him 
much  longer,  I  shall  speak.  But  until  then,  I  have 
nothing  to  say.  You  see,  Mr.  Prale,  I  cannot  be- 
lieve that  you  are  innocent  and  have  been  misjudged. 
The  evidence  against  you  is  so  conclusive,  and  I 
have  learned  to  hate  you  as  the  man  who  betrayed 
his  benefactor  and  friends  and  wrecked  my  father's 
health.  But,  if  you  are  innocent,  I  hope  that  you  will 
forgive   me." 

"I'll  forgive  you  gladly,"  said  Sidney  Prale.  "I 
realize  what  you  must  have  suffered,  and  what  your 
father  must  have  suffered,  too.  I  am  going  to  prove 
my  innocence;  and  then  I  hope  to  claim  you  as  one 
of  my   friends." 

"I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  believe  you,"  she  said 
again,  "although  I  would  like  to.  I  would  prefer 
to  think  that  no  man  could  be  so  ungrateful  as  to 
do  such  a  thing.  I'd  like  to  have  my  faith  in  human 
nature  restored.  If  you  prove  your  innocence,  I 
shall  be  very  glad  indeed!" 


A  STARTLING  STORY  229 

Then  she  called  for  Marie,  and  when  the  maid 
came  from  the  adjoining  room,  Sidney  Prale  ushered 
the  two  women  to  the  door  and  watched  as  they 
went  down  the  hall  toward  the  elevator.  But  Kate 
Gilbert  did  not  glance  back. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

HIGH-HANDED    METHODS 

SIDNEY  PRALE  closed  the  door  and  turned 
around  to  face  a  grinning  Murk. 

"Some  pair  of  chickens!"  Murk  said.  "That  Marie 
girl  may  be  a  bear  for  size  and  strength,  but  she's 
got  a  lot  of  good  common  sense.  I'm  strong  for 
her!" 

"Sit  down !"  Prale  commanded. 

And  then,  walking  up  and  down  across  the  room, 
he  told  Murk  what  Kate  Gilbert  had  revealed  to  him, 
simply  because  he  felt  that  he  had  to  tell  it  to  some- 
body. 

"How  is  that  for  a  dirty  deal,  Murk?"  he  asked 
when  he  had  finished.  "Doesn't  that  make  ordinary 
dirty   work   look   rather   pale?" 

"Who  did  it,  boss?  Name  the  gent,  and  I'll  get 
his  address  out  of  the  city  directory  and  pay  him  a 
visit!"  Murk  said.  "I'll  have  some  things  to  say  to 
him — and  some  things  to  do,  maybe." 

"I'm  a  sort  of  husky  individual  myself,  Murk,  and, 
if  I  knew  him,  I  think  I'd  beat  you  to  it,"  Prale 
replied.     "Now  we  must  get  busy!" 

"Just  say  the  word,  Mr.  Prale.    What  is  it  to  be?" 

"I  haven't  quite  decided  yet,  Murk.  How  far 
will  you  go?" 


HIGH-HANDED  METHODS  231 

"I'll   croak  him,   if   it's   necessary!" 

"That'd  be  a  bit  too  far.  Murk,  and  might  lead 
to  the  electric  chair  and  a  far  country.  Let's  take 
a  walk  and  think  it  over.  We  will  confine  ourselves 
to  the  Avenue,  and  you  may  trail  me  as  before.  I 
scarcely  think  they'll  assault  us  on  the  Avenue." 

Ten  minutes  later,  Sidney  Prale  was  walking  down 
the  street,  and  the  faithful  Murk  was  trailing  in  his 
wake,  watching  carefully.  That  walk  lasted  for  an 
hour.  Then  they  returned  to  the  hotel  and  Prale 
ordered  an  early  dinner.  He  did  not  say  what  he 
had  decided  to  do,  despite  Murk's  hints  that  he 
should  state  his  plans. 

But  Murk  had  noticed  that  Prale  had  stopped  in 
at  a  printing  office  during  the  walk,  and  shortly 
after  they  finished  dinner,  a  bell  boy  brought  a 
small  package  to  the  suite.  Prale  unwrapped  it, 
and  some  cards  spilled  out. 

"Nice  cards,  Murk,"  he  said.  *T  had  them  printed 
this  afternoon.  They  bear  the  name  of  Horace 
Greenman,  whoever  he  may  be,  and  state  that  he 
is  connected  with  the  General  Utilities  Company — 
whatever  that  is." 

"What's  the  big  Idea,  Mr.  Prale?"  Murk  asked 
wonderingly. 

*T  wish  to  get  into  a  certain  place,  Murk,  and 
I'd  never  do  it  if  I  send  in  my  own  card.  What 
time  is  it?" 

"A  few  minutes  of  eight,  sir." 

"Then  we'll  be  going.     Let  us  hope  that  we  find 


232  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

our  man  at  home.  If  this  happens  to  be  his  opera 
or  theater  evening,  we  are  going  to  be  delayed." 

Murk  followed  him  down  in  the  elevator  and  to 
the  street,  where  Prale  engaged  a  taxicab.  The 
machine  took  them  up  past  the  Park  and  to  an  ex- 
clusive residence  section,  where  it  stopped  on  a 
corner.  Prale  and  Murk  got  out,  and  Prale  in- 
structed the  chauffeur  to  wait.  Then  he  led  the 
way  to  the  middle  of  the  block. 

"Murk,  you  remain  just  outside  this  gate,"  he 
instructed.  "If  I  have  good  luck,  I'll  come  out 
with  a  man,  and  I  may  want  to  take  him  with  us. 
Be  ready  to  help  in  case  I  get  in  wrong." 

"Sure  thing,  sir,"  Murk  said. 

Prale  passed  through  the  gate,  went  up  the  walk, 
and  lifted  the  knocker  on  the  front  door.  A  moment, 
and  a  servant  appeared  and  looked  at  him  search- 
ingly. 

"I  wish  to  see  Mr.  Griffin  at  once  on  important 
business,"  Prale  said.  "Kindly  take  my  card  to 
him." 

Then  Prale  waited  with  his  heart  in  his  mouth. 
Was  Griffin  at  home?  The  servant  instantly  as- 
sured him  of  that,  and  carried  the  card  away.  Prale 
had   written   "Important  Business"   on   it. 

The  servant  returned  soon  and  announced  that 
Mr.  Griffin  would  see  the  visitor.  Prale  followed 
him  down  the  hall  to  the  library.  He  was  glad 
that  Griffin  had  chosen  to  receive  him  there,  for 
there  was  less  likelihood  of  an  interruption.  The 
servant  opened  the  door,  and  Sidney  Prale  stepped 
inside. 


HIGH-HANDED  METHODS  233 

Griffin  was  sitting  beside  the  long  table,  and  he 
arose  immediately  and  turned. 

"You!"  he  gasped. 

"Pardon  the   deception " 

"James!     James!"  Griffin  thundered. 

The  servant  was  in  the  room  instantly. 

"Show  this  fellow  the  door!"  Griffin  commanded. 
"Look   at   him   well,   and   never  admit   him   again!" 

James  took  a  step  forward  and  indicated  the  door. 
But  Sidney  Prale  reached  into  the  pocket  of  his  coat, 
drew  out  an  automatic  pistol,  and  held  it  menacingly. 

"Close  the  door,  James — softly!"  he  commanded 
in  a  stern  voice.  "Now  advance  to  the  table  and 
stand  where  I  can  watch  you.  Don't  you  make  a 
move,  Mr.  Griffin!  I  used  to  handle  men  down  in 
Honduras,  and  I  feel  confident  that  I  can  take  care 
of  this  situation." 

"You  thug !"  Griffin  cried.  "I'll  have  you  sent  up 
for  this,  Prale,  if  it's  the  last  thing  I  do!" 

"I  know  that  it  is  against  the  law  to  be  carrying 
a  gun  without  a  permit,  but  this  situation  demands 
a  show  of  force,"  Prale  said.  "I  merely  want  you  to 
listen  to  me  for  a  moment,  Mr.  Griffin." 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  anything  you  may  have  to 
say  to  me,  Sidney  Prale!"  the  financier  said. 

"You  are  going  to  hear  it,  nevertheless!  Mr. 
Griffin,  I  did  not  know  until  this  afternoon  why  I 
had  secret  enemies  and  why  they  were  trying  to 
cause  me  endless  trouble.  Miss  Kate  Gilbert  was 
kind   enough    to   enlighten   me." 

"Well,    sir?" 

"I  am  sorry  that  you  believe  me  guilty  of  such 


234  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

base  ingratitude  to  you  and  of  such  dishonorable 
conduct,  for  I  am  not  guilty,  Mr.  Griffin!  You 
were  like  a  father  to  me — which  was  enough  to 
compel  my  loyalty — and,  aside  from  that,  you  had 
taught  me  several  things  regarding  honor  in  business 
deals.  I  went  away  on  the  spur  of  the  moment 
because  a  woman  had  jilted  me.  But  before  I  went, 
I  did   not  betray  you  and  your  associates." 

"A  likely  story!" 

"But  a  true  one,  Mr.  Griffin!  I  did  not  sell 
you  out  for  a  hundred  thousand  dollars  or  any  other 
sum.  My  conscience  is  clear,  and  I  came  back  to 
New  York  expecting  to  greet  old  friends  and  have 
a  pleasant  time.  You  know  what  I  found  instead  of 
that  happy  state  of  affairs.  I  am  not  here  to  talk 
at  length.  I  demand  a  chance  to  prove  my  inno- 
cence !" 

"How  can  you  do  the  impossible,  sir?" 

"It  is  not  the  impossible,  Mr.  Griffin!  I  intend 
to  prove  to  you  that  I  was  not  disloyal,  and  then  I 
shall  prove  that  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  murder 
of  Rufus  Shepley.  I  have  an  idea,  sir,  what  is  be- 
hind all  this." 

"We  are  wasting  time " 

"I  think  not,  sir!  Time  is  not  wasted  in  which  a 
man  shows  that  he  is  not  a  scoundrel!  I  think  you 
owe  it  to  me  to  give  me  a  chance.  You  have  con- 
demned me  unheard." 

"I  would  give  almost  anything  to  have  you  prove 
your  innocence,"  Griffin  said.  "You  don't  know  how 
it  hurt  me.  But  the  case  against  you  was  so  strong — 
and  is  so  strong " 


HIGH-HANDED  METHODS  235 

"Let  us  waste  no  more  time,"  Prale  said.  "I  re- 
member the  details  of  the  big  deal  that  was  under 
way  when  I  left  New  York  ten  years  ago.  If  you 
recall,  sir,  I  helped  plan  the  campaign.  If  I  can  look 
at  papers  in  your  office,  I  think  I  can  show  that  I  am 
not  guilty." 

"I'd  like  to  believe  you,  but  this  is  preposterous!" 
Griffin  cried,     **I  tell  you  the  evidence " 

"It  probably  was  strong,  because  the  guilty  man 
wanted  to  make  it  so.  Mr.  Griffin,  were  I  guilty  I 
should  not  be  here.  Please  give  me  a  few  minutes, 
and  let  us  talk  this  over.  Then,  if  you  wish,  we  can 
go  to  your  office  and  continue  the  investigation." 

Griffin  sat  down  and  motioned  for  Sidney  Prale  to 
do  the  same.  Prale  returned  the  automatic  to  his 
pocket,  much  to  the  relief  of  the  servant. 

Murk,  standing  outside  by  the  gate,  paced  back 
and  forth  and  wondered  whether  he  should  attempt 
to  take  the  house  by  storm  and  rescue  his  employer. 
The  chauffeur,  waiting  at  the  corner,  wondered 
whether  his  fare  had  slipped  down  the  next  street 
without  paying  the  bill.  Murk  relieved  him  on  that 
point  and  threatened  to  beat  him  up  because  he  inti- 
mated that  Prale  might  do  such  a  thing. 

It  was  more  than  two  hours  later  when  Prale  left 
the  house  and  went  out  to  the  street.  He  paid  the 
chauffeur  and  dismissed  him,  and  told  Murk  to  return 
to  the  hotel.  Then  he  went  back  into  the  house  and 
joined  Mr.  Griffin  again,  and  after  Griffin  had  tele- 
phoned several  persons,  he  ordered  his  car,  got  into 
it  with  Prale,  and  started  downtown. 

An  astonished  watchman  took  them  up  in  an  ele- 


236  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

vator  in  an  office  building  in  the  financial  district,  and 
a  little  later  he  took  up  several  other  gentlemen. 

"Them  financiers  make  me  sick!"  the  watchman 
told  himself.  "Why  can't  they  lay  their  schemes  in 
the  daytime?" 

It  was  almost  dawn  when  they  left  the  building 
and  scattered.  They  had  spent  hours  investigating 
books  and  papers.  Sidney  Prale  had  even  sent  a 
messenger  to  the  hotel  with  an  order  to  Murk  for 
certain  books  and  papers  of  his  own,  and  these  had 
been  investigated,  too. 

"And  there  we  are,  gentlemen,"  Prale  had  said,  at 
the  last.  "I  have  shown  you,  I  think,  that  I  did  not 
do  this  thing.  I  do  not  want  you  to  believe  me  fully 
until  I  have  proved  my  innocence  by  revealing  the 
man  who  is  guilty.  I  merely  ask  you  to  give  me  a 
fair  chance  to  prove  my  case.  I  have  told  you  my 
suspicions.  Now  it  is  up  to  me  to  demonstrate 
whether  they  are  just  or  worthless." 

Griffin  had  little  to  say  as  they  rode  back  uptown. 
But  when  he  dropped  Prale  at  the  hotel  just  before 
daylight,  he  gripped  him  by  the  hand. 

"I  want  to  believe  you,  Sidney!"  he  said.  *T  hope 
that  you  have  told  me  the  truth.  If  you  have,  I  hope 
you'll  be  able  to  clear  yourself.  If  you  only  can  show 
me  that  the  boy  I  was  glad  to  help  was  not  ungrate- 
ful, after  all " 

*T'll  do  it,  sir!" 

"And  then  I'll  never  forgive  myself,  Sidney!" 

"You'll  show  your  forgiveness  by  handling  my 
affairs  for  me,  sir,  in  that  event,  and  by  treating  me 
as  your  son  again!"  Prale  said. 


HIGH-HANDED  METHODS  237 

He  hurried  up  to  the  suite.  Murk  had  been  sleep- 
ing in  a  chair  in  the  living  room,  as  if  expecting  a 
call  at  any  moment.  He  was  somewhat  startled  to 
hear  Sidney  Prale  whistling  merrily  at  four  o'clock 
in  the  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

AN      ACCUSATION 

SPRINGING  toward  him,  the  masked  man  stopped 
two  feet  from  the  bound  Jim  Farland. 

"So  you  think  you  know  me,  do  you  ?"  he  snarled. 

"I  have  a  pretty  good  idea,"  Farland  said.  "There 
are  only  a  few  men  in  the  city,  to  my  knowledge,  who 
could  be  hired  to  do  work  like  this,  and  it  occurs  to 
me  that  I  have  seen  those  hands  of  yours  before.  I 
think  your  face  is  in  the  rogues'  gallery,  too,  if  you 
want  to  know!" 

The  masked  man  retreated  for  a  few  feet,  evi- 
dently relieved. 

"So  you'll  not  make  terms  with  me,"  he  said. 
"You'd  rather  work  for  Sidney  Prale,  would  you? 
Perhaps  we  can  change  your  mind." 

"I  doubt  that  like  blazes !" 

"You  are  going  to  be  kept  here  as  a  prisoner  until 
I  decide  what  is  to  be  done  with  you." 

He  crossed  over  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and  called 
to  his  men,  two  of  whom  responded. 

"I  want  this  man  guarded  well,"  he  said.  "I  want 
you  to  understand  that  I  am  holding  you  responsible 
for  him.  I'll  be  back  to-morrow  evening  and  have 
another  talk  with  him.  Give  him  something  to  eat 
now  and  then,  and  fix  him  so  he  can  sleep,  but  watch 
him  all  the  timel" 


AN  ACCUSATION  239 

"I  was  figurin'  on  goin'  to  the  city  this  mornin', 
boss,"  one  of  the  men  spoke  up. 

"You'll  do  as  I  say !"  the  masked  man  cried. 

"But " 

"Don't  argue  with  me,  you  dog!" 

Farland  saw  the  man's  eyes  flash  fire  for  a  mo- 
ment. And  then  the  masked  man  faced  toward  him 
again,  his  eyes  glittering  through  his  mask. 

"Sometimes  it  isn't  healthy  to  know  whose  picture 
is  in  the  rogues'  gallery!"  he  said. 

He  went  from  the  room.  After  a  short  argument 
one  of  the  men  remained  to  guard  Farland,  and  the 
other  went  away.  Farland  spent  a  night  of  agony. 
His  guards  fixed  the  bonds  so  that  he  could  be  a  bit 
more  comfortable,  and  yet  he  got  little  sleep. 

Jim  Farland  was  considering  a  big  idea  now.  He 
had  thrown  the  masked  man  off  guard  by  intimating 
that  he  might  be  a  crook  with  a  record,  when,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  the  detective  did  not  believe  him  to  be 
anything  of  the  sort.  Now  Farland  knew  where  to 
begin  working,  but  he  had  to  win  his  freedom  first. 

Night  passed,  morning  came,  and  the  long  day  of 
agony  began.  Farland  had  his  hands  untied  and  was 
given  some  food.  Then  his  wrists  were  lashed  again 
and  his  ankles  loosened,  and  he  was  allowed  to  walk 
around  the  room  for  an  hour  or  so,  two  of  the  men 
watching  him  closely.  The  one  to  whom  the  masked 
man  had  applied  the  epithet,  "dog,"  appeared  surly. 

After  they  had  bound  him  again  and  stretched  him 
upon  the  couch,  they  guarded  him  one  at  a  time,  evi- 
dently secure  in  the  belief  that  he  could  not  escape. 
Jim  Farland  thought  a  day  never  had  seemed  so  long. 


240  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

All  the  time  he  was  busy  with  his  thoughts.  He  had 
a  plan  of  campaign  outlined  now;  he  wanted  to  be  at 
work. 

Once  more  the  evening  came.  Farland,  who  had 
been  sleeping  for  a  few  minutes,  awoke  and  turned 
over  to  find  that  his  guard  had  been  changed  again. 
The  man  who  had  been  called  a  dog  was  on  duty. 

"How  long  are  you  going  to  keep  me  tied  up  like 
this?"  Jim  Farland  asked. 

"Don't  ask  me.  Ask  the  high  and  mighty  boss," 
was  the  sneering  reply. 

"You  don't  seem  to  stand  very  high  with  him." 

"Aw,  he  makes  me  sick  sometimes." 

"It'd  make  me  sick,  too,  if  anybody  called  me  a 
dog,"  Farland  declared. 

The  man  before  him  did  not  reply  to  that,  but 
Farland  could  see  the  anger  burning  in  his  face. 

"Come  closer,"  Farland  whispered. 

The  man  obeyed  instantly. 

"Can  anybody  overhear  what  I  say  to  you?" 

"No.  Everybody's  gone — but  they'll  be  back 
soon." 

"Why  are  you  working  for  these  people?" 

"Coin,  of  course — and  precious  little  of  it  I've  seen 
so  far,"  was  the  reply. 

"Then  you  haven't  any  other  interest  in  this  busi- 
ness?   Maybe  we  can  make  a  deal." 

"What  sort  of  a  deal?" 

"The  man  I  work  for  is  worth  a  million,"  Farland 
said.  "Help  me  escape,  and  I'll  give  you  five  hun- 
dred dollars." 

"Got  it  with  you?" 


AN  ACCUSATION  241 

"The  biggest  part  of  it,"  Farland  replied. 

He  told  the  truth,  too,  for  he  always  carried  plenty 
of  money  while  working  on  a  case. 

"Suppose  I  simply  take  it  away  from  you,"  the 
guard  said. 

"In  the  first  place,  I  don't  think  you  are  that  kind 
of  a  man.  And  you  want  to  get  square  with  the  man 
who  called  you  a  dog,  don't  you?" 

"What's  your  scheme?" 

"Simply  let  me  go,  right  now.  It  is  dusk  outside 
already.  Tell  me  how  to  get  to  town  the  quickest 
way.  I'll  give  you  almost  all  I  have  on  me;  I'll  need 
a  little  to  use  to  get  back  to  the  city.  To-morrow 
I'll  meet  you  some  place  and  give  you  the  rest.  In 
addition  I'll  give  you  a  chance  to  get  out  without 
being  arrested  for  your  part  in  abducting  me  and 
holding  me  here." 

The  man  spent  a  few  minutes  in  thought. 

"I'll  fix  you  so  you  can  slip  your  bonds,"  he  said, 
"and  I'll  hand  your  automatic  back  to  you.  It  is 
there  in  the  cupboard.  But  I  don't  want  you  to 
make  a  get-away  while  I'm  guarding  you — see?  I 
don't  exactly  love  the  man  who'll  guard  you  next. 
I'll  fix  it  so  you  can  handle  him.  Wait  for  five 
minutes  after  he  comes  and  I  have  gone.  I  will  be 
away  for  an  hour  or  so,  and  the  escape  can  happen 
while  I'm  not  here." 

"That  suits  me,"  Farland  said. 
"What  about  the  money?" 

"You'll  get  it  just  as  soon  as  I  get  my  hands 
loose." 

The  guard  walked  to  the  hall  door  and  opened  it. 


242  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

peered  out  into  the  hall  and  listened.  Then  he  hur- 
ried back  to  the  couch  and  cut  Jim  Farland's  bonds. 
Farland  took  the  money  from  one  of  his  inside 
pockets  and  handed  it  over.  The  guard  got  the 
weapon  from  the  cupboard  and  gave  it  to  Farland. 

The  detective  stretched  himself  down  on  the  couch 
again,  and  the  guard  adjusted  the  ropes  on  his  ankles 
and  wrists  so  that  they  would  appear  to  be  all  right. 
Farland  slipped  the  automatic  beneath  the  small  of 
his  back,  where  he  could  reach  it  quickly. 

It  was  half  an  hour  later  before  the  guard  was 
changed  and  Farland's  friend  hurried  away,  warning 
him  with  a  glance  that  he  should  not  make  a  move 
too  soon.  He  had  declined  to  meet  the  detective  the 
following  day  and  get  the  few  dollars  still  due  him; 
he  would  rather  use  what  he  already  had  in  getting 
out  of  town,  he  had  said. 

Farland  made  no  attempt  to  talk  with  the  new 
guard.  He  pretended  to  be  tired,  almost  exhausted 
and  sleepy.  The  guard  sat  beside  the  table,  smoking 
and  glancing  at  a  newspaper  now  and  then,  appar- 
ently of  the  opinion  that  Farland  was  safely  a 
prisoner. 

After  waiting  for  about  half  an  hour,  the  detective 
began  moving  his  ankles  and  wrists  gently.  Gradu- 
ally the  ropes  fell  away.  He  reached  one  hand  be- 
neath his  back  and  grasped  the  automatic.  Then  he 
sat  up  quickly  on  the  couch  and  covered  the  guard. 

"Put  'em  up!"  he  commanded. 

The  guard  whirled  from  the  table  and  sprang  to 
his  feet,  surprise  written  on  his  countenance.  Far- 
land  had  arisen  now,  and  advancing  toward  him. 


AN  ACCUSATION  243 

"Walk  past  me  to  the  couch!"  the  detective  com- 
manded. 

The  guard  started  to  obey.  He  was  holding  his 
hands  above  his  head  and  seemed  to  be  afraid  that 
his  captor  would  shoot.  But  as  he  came  opposite 
Farland,  he  lurched  to  one  side  and  made  an  attempt 
to  grapple  with  him. 

The  detective  did  not  fire.  He  sprang  aside  him- 
self, swung  the  automatic,  and  crashed  it  against  the 
other  man's  temple.  The  guard  groaned  once  and 
dropped  to  the  floor. 

"Thought  you  might  try  something  like  that!"  Jim 
Farland  growled,  "Couldn't  have  pleased  me  better 
— won't  have  to  waste  time  tying  you  up  now.  You'll 
be  dead  to  the  world  for  a  few  minutes  at  least!" 

Farland  darted  to  the  door,  opened  it,  went  into 
the  hall  and  closed  the  door  again.  He  passed 
through  the  house  noiselessly.  He  could  hear  two 
men  in  conversation  in  a  rear  room,  and  he  knew 
that  he  would  have  to  be  cautious  until  he  was  at 
some  distance  from  the  old  dwelling,  unless  he 
wanted  a  battle  on  his  hands. 

He  got  out  of  the  place  without  being  discovered, 
and  reached  the  edge  of  a  grove  not  far  away.  There 
he  found  the  lane,  and  near  the  end  of  it  was  a 
powerful  roadster.  Its  engine  dead  and  its  lights  ex- 
tinguished. 

Farland  listened  a  moment,  then  went  forward  and 
examined  the  machine.  He  knew  the  model,  and  he 
was  an  excellent  driver.  Once  more  he  stopped  to 
listen.  Then  he  sprang  behind  the  wheel  and  oper- 
ated the  starter. 


244  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

He  drove  slowly  down  the  lane,  the  engine  almost 
silent,  the  car  traveling  slowly.  He  proceeded  in  that 
manner  until  he  had  reached  the  highway.  There  he 
switched  on  the  lights,  put  on  speed,  and  sent  the 
powerful  car  roaring  along  the  winding  road  toward 
the  river, 

Jim  Farland,  being  a  modest  man,  never  did  tell 
the  entire  story  of  that  night.  He  drove  like  a  fiend, 
narrowly  escaping  collision  a  score  of  times.  He 
made  his  way  along  the  roads  running  alongside  the 
broad  river,  and  finally  came  opposite  the  city.  He 
crossed  over  a  bridge,  drove  through  the  streets  with 
what  speed  he  dared,  left  the  car  at  a  public  garage 
with  certain  instructions,  and  hurried  to  a  telephone. 

He  was  unable  to  get  either  Sidney  Prale  or  Murk, 
for  at  that  hour  they  were  on  their  way  to  the  Griffin 
residence.  Farland  telephoned  to  his  wife  to  say  that 
he  was  all  right,  but  would  not  be  home  until  some 
time  during  the  day.  Then  he  engaged  a  taxicab  and 
began  his  work. 

He  knew  where  to  start  now.  An  idea  had  come 
to  him  in  that  old  house  far  up  the  river,  a  suspicion, 
a  feeling  of  certainty  that  he  was  on  the  right  track. 
Jim  Farland  was  no  respecter  of  persons  that  night. 

When  morning  came  he  stopped  only  for  a  cup 
of  coffee,  and  then  worked  on.  He  dashed  from  one 
place  to  another,  running  up  a  taxicab  bill  that  made 
the  chauffeur  smile.  He  interviewed  important  gen- 
tlemen, threatening  some  and  cajoling  others,  but 
always  getting  the  information  that  he  desired. 

At  two  o'clock  the  following  afternoon  he  stood 


AN  ACCUSATION  245 

on  a  certain  corner  near  Madison  Square,  his  sus- 
picion almost  proved,  his  investigation  at  an  end. 

"Now  for  the  big  bluff!"  Jim  Farland  said  to 
himself. 

He  fortified  himself  with  another  cup  of  coffee, 
got  into  the  taxicab  again,  and  started  downtown. 
He  was  smoking  one  of  his  big,  black  cigars,  puffing 
at  it  as  if  in  deep  contentment,  not  looking  at  all  like 
a  man  who  had  been  kept  a  prisoner  a  night  and  a 
day,  and  had  been  busy  since  that  experience. 

The  taxicab  stopped  before  an  office  building,  as 
Jim  Farland  had  ordered.  The  detective  pulled  out 
his  last  money  and  paid  the  chauffeur. 

"You're  got  more  coming,  son,  but  this  is  all  I 
have  with  me,"  Farland  said.  "Drop  in  at  my  office 
any  time  after  ten  to-morrow  morning  and  get  it." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Farland — ^and  thanks!" 

"You're  a  good  boy,  but  keep  your  mouth  shut!** 
Farland  told  him. 

Then  he  hurried  into  the  office  building,  went  to 
the  elevator  nearest  the  entrance,  and  ascended  to  the 
floor  where  George  Lerton  had  his  suite  of  offices. 

The  office  boy  stepped  to  the  railing. 

"Mr.  Lerton  busy?"  Farland  asked. 

"He  is  alone  in  his  private  office,  sir,"  said  the 
boy,  who  regarded  the  detective  with  admiration  and 
awe.  After  Farland's  other  visit,  the  youth  had  de- 
cided to  be  a  detective  when  he  grew  up. 

"I  am  to  go  right  in — important  business,"  Far- 
land  said.     "Never  mind  announcing  me." 

The  willing  boy  opened  the  gate,  and  Farland  hur- 
ried across  to  the  door  of  the  private  office.     He 


246  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

paused  there  a  moment  and  seemed  to  pull  himself 
together,  as  if  making  sure  before  entering  the  room 
of  questions  he  wanted  to  ask  and  information  he 
wanted  to  gather.  Then  he  threw  the  door  open, 
stepped  quickly  inside,  closed  the  door,  and  turned  the 
key. 

Lerton  was  sitting  at  his  desk  with  his  back  to  the 
door.  He  made  no  move  until  he  heard  the  key 
turned.     Then  he  whirled  around  in  his  desk  chair. 

"I — Great  Scott,  Farland,  how  you  startled  me!" 
he  exclaimed.     "I  thought  it  was  my  secretary." 

"Pardon  me  for  butting  in  this  way,  but  I  am  in 
a  deuce  of  a  hurry  and  told  the  boy  it  was  all  right," 
Farland  said. 

"You'll  smash  my  office  discipline  doing  things 
like  this.  But,  sit  down,  man!  What  is  it  now? 
Has  that  cousin  of  mine  been  acting  up  again,  or 
are  you  going  to  pester  me  with  a  lot  of  fool  ques- 
tions about  things  I  don't  know  anything  about?" 

Farland  had  seated  himself  in  the  chair  at  the  end 
of  the  desk,  within  four  feet  of  George  Lerton.  He 
had  tossed  his  hat  to  a  table  and  twisted  the  cigar 
into  one  corner  of  his  mouth.  Now  he  stared  Lerton 
straight  in  the  eyes. 

"You  look  like  a  madman!"  Lerton  said.  "Why 
on  earth  are  you  looking  at  me  like  that?  You  look 
as  if  you  were  ill " 

The  expression  in  Farland's  face  made  him  stop, 
and  he  appeared  to  be  a  bit  disconcerted. 

"Why  did  you  kill  Rufus  Shepley?"  Jim  Farland 
demanded  suddenly  in  a  voice  that  seemed  to  sting. 


AN  ACCUSATION  247 

Lerton's  face  went  white  for  an  instant.  His  jaw 
dropped  and  his  eyes  bulged. 

"Are — are  you  insane?"  he  gasped.  "What  on 
earth  do  you  mean  by  this  ?    I'll  call  a  clerk  and " 

"The  door  is  locked,"  Farland  said,  taking  the  au- 
tomatic from  his  pocket.  "You  raise  your  voice, 
touch  a  button  or  make  any  move  that  I  do  not  like, 
and  I'll  plug  you  and  say  afterward  that  I  had  placed 
you  under  arrest  and  had  to  shoot  when  you  tried  to 
escape.  Answer  my  question,  Lerton!  You  are  at 
the  end  of  your  rope !  Why  did  you  kill  Rufus 
Shepley  and  then  try  to  hang  the  crime  on  your 
cousin,  Sidney  Prale?" 

"This  is  preposterous!"  Lerton  exclaimed. 

"Oh,  I've  got  the  goods  on  you,  Lerton!  I 
wouldn't  be  here  talking  like  this  if  I  didn't!  You're 
going  to  the  electric  chair!" 

Lerton  laughed  rather  nervously.  "I  always 
thought  that  you  were  a  good  detective,  Jim,  but  I 
am  beginning  to  have  doubts  now,"  he  said.  "What 
has  put  such  an  idea  into  your  head?" 

"Facts  gathered  and  welded  together,"  Farland 
told  him.  "Don't  try  to  carry  out  the  bluff  any 
longer,  Lerton.  And  don't  call  me  Jim.  I  never 
allow  murderers  to  get  familiar  with  me!" 

"This  has  gone  far  enough !"  the  broker  exclaimed. 
"I'll  have  to  ask  you  to  leave  my  office,  sir!" 

"I  expect  to  do  that  little  thing  before  long,  and 
you  are  going  with  me,"  Farland  said. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE    TRUTH     COMES    OUT 

FARLAND  did  not  take  his  eyes  off  George 
Lerton. 

"If  you  have  touched  a  button  and  called  some 
fool  clerk,  I'll  manhandle  you !"  he  promised.  "Kindly 
consider  yourself  a  prisoner!" 

The  knock  was  repeated,  and  Farland,  still  keeping 
his  eyes  on  the  man  at  the  desk,  backed  to  the  door 
and  turned  the  key.  Then  he  took  up  a  position 
where  he  could  continue  watching  George  Lerton  and 
keep  an  eye  on  the  door  at  the  same  time. 

"Come  in!"  he  called. 

The  door  was  hurled  open.  At  the  same  instant, 
the  office  boy  who  had  opened  it  was  thrust  aside. 
Sidney  Prale  sprang  into  the  private  office  and  stood 
glaring  at  his  cousin.  Behind  him  was  Murk,  and 
behind  Murk  were  Kate  Gilbert  and  her  maid. 

"Quite  a  gathering!"  Farland  said,  grinning.  "I'm 
glad  that  you  are  here.  Kindly  close  and  lock  the 
door,  Murk,  with  that  young  office  gentleman  on  the 
outside !" 

Murk  obeyed.     George  Lerton  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this  intrusion?"  he  de- 
manded. "Has  my  office  been  turned  into  a  rendez- 
vous for  maniacs?" 

"Sit   down!"    Sidney   Prale    cried.      He   had    not 


THE  TRUTH  COMES  OUT  249 

taken  his  eyes  off  Lerton,  had  not  even  turned  to 
speak  to  Jim  Farland,  had  not  even  wondered  how 
Farland  had  escaped  and  come  here. 

Lerton  dropped  back  into  his  chair,  wetting  his 
thin  lips,  his  eyes  furtive  now. 

"You  miserable  cur!"  Sidney  Prale  went  on,  ad- 
vancing toward  his  cousin.  "I  should  handle  this 
affair  myself.  I  should  have  you  in  Honduras,  and 
fasten  you  to  a  tree  and  beat  you  until  you  are  sense- 
less." 

"These  insults " 

"Are  deserved,  you  beast!"  Prale  cried.  "So, 
when  I  went  away  ten  years  ago,  you  sold  out  Mr. 
Griffin  and  put  the  blame  for  it  on  me,  did  you? 
You  wrecked  that  good  man's  faith  in  me,  turned 
influential  men  against  me,  had  me  persecuted  when 
I  returned." 

Jim  Farland  gave  a  shout  of  delight.  "That  right, 
Sid?"  he  cried,  "Then  I  have  the  connecting  link! 
So  George  Lerton  has  been  causing  you  all  this  trou- 
ble, has  he?  I  understand  a  lot  more  now.  Lerton 
killed  Rufus  Shepley,  also!" 

"It's  a  lie!  You  are  trying  to  save  Prale  by  ac- 
cusing me!"  Lerton  cried. 

"Why,  we've  got  you,  you  weak  fool!"  said  Far- 
land.  "I  knew  you  in  that  old  farmhouse  despite 
your  mask.  Your  hands  gave  you  away — I  recog- 
nized them." 

"And  he's  the  man  who  tried  to  bribe  me!"  Murk 
cried.    "I  can  tell  it  by  his  hands,  too !" 

"You  tried  to  smash  Prale's  alibi,"  Jim  Farland 
continued.     "You  had  him  followed  that  night  and 


250  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

you  sent  those  notes  to  the  barber  and  the  clothing 
merchant,  with  money  in  them." 

"And  you  betrayed  yourself  when  you  began  using 
violence,"  Prale  put  in.  "You  were  too  vindictive. 
You  showed  that  you  had  some  good  reason  of  your 
own  for  wanting  to  drive  me  away  from  New  York 
quickly !" 

"Oh,  we've  got  you!"  Farland  repeated.  "You 
are  as  good  as  in  the  electric  chair  now!" 

George  Lerton  looked  as  if  he  might  have  been  in 
it.  He  was  breathing  in  gasps,  and  his  face  was 
white.     His  eyes  held  an  expression  of  terror. 

"I  guess — you've  got  me!"  he  said.  "But  I'll  never 
— go  to  the  chair!" 

Farland  stepped  across  to  him.  "Get  it  off  your 
chest!"  he  suggested. 

"I — I'll  talk  about  it — ^yes!"  George  Lerton  said. 
"I — I  sold  out  Griffin.  I  wanted  money,  and  I  hated 
Griffin  because  he  had  put  Sidney  Prale  over  me. 
Then  Sid  had  his  trouble  with  the  girl  and  ran  away. 
I  fixed  things  so  it  looked  as  if  he  had  been  the 
guilty  one. 

"I  pretended  to  hate  Sid  for  what  he  was  sup- 
posed to  have  done.  I  suggested  the  scheme  of 
vengeance,  and  worked  to  get  the  influential  men  to- 
gether. Then  he  came  back — with  his  million.  I 
hated  him  all  the  more  because  of  that.  I  was  afraid 
that,  if  he  remained  in  New  York,  he  would  find 
out  the  truth  and  I'd  be  exposed.  I  knew  what  that 
would  mean,  and  I  was  beginning  to  get  rich. 

"So  I  had  him  followed  and  watched.  I  trailed 
him  myself  and  met  him  on  Fifth  Avenue,  and  tried 


THE  TRUTH  COMES  OUT  251 

to  get  him  to  go  away,  and  afterward  denied  that  I 
had  seen  him  at  all,  for  he  was  accused  of  the  mur- 
der of  Rufus  Shepley." 

"Which  was  your  deed!"  Farland  put  in.  "Go 
ahead — tell  it  all.  Let  us  see  whether  you  were 
clever  or  merely  an  amateur  at  crime." 

"Oh,  I  was  clever  enough!"  Lerton  boasted.  "I — 
I  killed  Shepley  because  he  was  about  to  have  me 
arrested  for  embezzlement.  I  had  been  handling  a 
vast  sum  for  him,  aside  from  his  regular  business. 
While  he  was  traveling,  I  speculated  with  the  money 
— ^and  lost.    He  knew  it.    I  could  not  repay. 

"I  had  an  engagement  with  him  that  night  at  the 
hotel.  The  detective  I  had  working  for  me  had  re- 
ported that  Sid  had  had  a  quarrel  with  Shepley,  and 
where  he  had  gone  afterward  and  what  he  had  done. 
There  I  saw  my  chance. 

"I  did  not  have  myself  announced  at  Shepley's 
hotel.  I  knew  where  his  suite  was,  so  I  slipped  up  to 
it  without  anybody  seeing  me,  and  knocked  at  the 
door.  He  admitted  me.  I  begged  him  to  give  me  a 
little  time  to  repay  the  money,  but  he  would  not.  He 
called  me  a  thief,  and  said  that  I  must  go  to  prison, 
that  he  would  not  have  a  hand  in  letting  me  remain 
at  liberty  to  rob  other  men. 

"There  was  a  steel  letter  opener  on  the  table.  I— » 
I  stabbed  him  with  it,  and  then  I  got  away  by  the 
fire  escape.  Nobody  saw  me.  I  left  him  there  dead. 
I  was  almost  frantic  when  I  reached  home.  Then  I 
saw  how  I  could  have  Sidney  Prale  accused  and  re- 
move the  menace  of  his  presence  also.  I  would  be 
safe  if  Prale  were  convicted  of  the  murder.    I  would 


252  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

not  have  to  repay  the  Shepley  money,  and  Prale  never 
could  reveal  that  I  had  betrayed  Mr.  Griffin  and  the 
others  instead  of  him. 

"So  I  sent  the  notes  and  money  to  the  barber  and 
clothing  merchant,  and  they  denied  that  Prale  had 
visited  them,  thus  smashing  his  alibi.  I  denied  that 
I  had  met  him  on  the  Avenue.  I  thought  that  I  was 
safe.  But  the  barber  and  merchant  told  Farland  the 
truth,  and  the  police  began  to  think  that  Sid  was  not 
guilty. 

"I  grew  almost  frantic  then.  My  one  hope  was  in 
running  Sid  out  of  town  as  quickly  as  possible,  and 
so  I  did  everything  I  could  think  of  to  bring  about 
that  end." 

"How  about  that  fountain  pen  found  beside  the 
body?"  Farland  asked. 

"When  I  was  talking  to  Sid  that  night  on  the 
Avenue,  his  coat  was  open  and  I  saw  the  pen.  Some- 
thing seemed  to  tell  me  to  take  it,  that  it  might  be 
used  against  him  some  time.  As  I  clutched  his  lapel, 
begging  him  to  leave  town,  I  took  the  pen  from  his 
pocket." 

"Nothing  but  a  plain  dip,  after  all!"  Farland 
sneered. 

"I  dropped  it  beside  the  body  after  I  had  killed 
Shepley.  It  was  a  part  of  my  plan.  And — and  I 
guess  that  is  all!" 

"I  guess  it  is!"  Sidney  Prale  said.  "Mr.  Griffin 
and  I,  and  some  other  men,  made  a  little  investigation 
last  night  and  continued  it  this  morning.  We  found 
that  you  were  the  traitor  who  caused  that  financial 
smash  ten  years  ago.     It  may  please  you  to  know 


THE  TRUTH  COMES  OUT  253 

that  Mr.  Griffin  is  my  friend  again,  and  that  others 
are  being  informed  of  my  innocence.  Even  Coadley 
has  come  to  me  and  asked  to  take  my  case  again. 
But  I  was  clearing  myself  of  the  charge  of  business 
treason,  and  nothing  more.  I  did  not  connect  you 
with  the  murder  of  Shepley." 

"Well,  I  did  connect  him  with  it,"  Farland  put  in. 
**But  when  I  sprung  it  on  him  here  this  afternoon,  I 
was  running  a  bluff.  I  had  some  evidence,  but  not 
enough  to  convict.  You  might  have  got  away  with 
it,  Lerton,  if  you  had  had  any  nerve.  But  you  hap- 
pen to  be  a  rank  coward — and  a  guilty  man!" 

"You — you "  George  Lerton  gasped. 

He  had  been  holding  two  fingers  in  a  pocket  of  his 
waistcoat.  Now  he  withdrew  them  and,  before  Far- 
land  could  reach  him,  he  had  swallowed  something. 

"You'll  never "  he  began,  and  then  his  head 

fell  forward  to  the  desk.  "Get  the  ladies  outside, 
Murk!"  Farland  commanded  suddenly.  "And  tell 
that  secretary  out  there  to  send  in  a  call  for  a  phy- 
sician and  the  police.  Lerton  was  right — ^he'U  never 
go  to  the  electric  chair!" 

Ten  minutes  later,  Sidney  Prale  and  Murk  were 
waiting  for  the  elevator  with  Kate  Gilbert  and  Marie, 
but  each  couple  was  standing  at  some  distance  from 
the  other. 

"I  have  proved  my  innocence,  and  now  I  ask  you 
to  remember  your  promise  and  grant  me  your  friend- 
ship," Prale  was  telling  Kate  Gilbert. 

"I  shall  remember,"  she  said.    "You  have  my  ad- 


254  THE  BRAND  OF  SILENCE 

dress,  haven't  you?  If  you  haven't,  ask  Murk.  He 
knows  it.     You  sent  him  to  spy  on  me,  remember." 

"Jim  Farland  did  that,"  Prale  protested. 

Murk  was  talking  to  the  gigantic  Marie  at  that 
moment. 

"You're  mighty  nice!"  he  was  saying.  "Say,  I'd 
like  to  see  you  some  more.  I've  got  an  idea  my  boss 
will  be  calling  on  your  mistress,  and  when  he  does  I 
might  come  up  to  the  corner,  and  you  might  slip  out 
and  meet  me,  and  we  might  take  a  walk  in  the  Park. 
You  wouldn't  want  to  stay  in  the  apartment  and 
bother  them,  would  you?" 

"It  would  be  a  shame!"  said  Marie.  "Which  cor- 
ner, Murk?" 

THE  END 


TO    THE    READER 


If  you  have  enjoyed  this  book,  you  will  be  glad  to 
know  that  there  are  many  others  just  as  well  written, 
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